The Immortal Life Of Henrietta Lacks

The Immortal Life Of Henrietta Lacks Plot Summary

Introduction

In the corridors of medical history, few stories are as profound and paradoxical as that of Henrietta Lacks. On a cold January day in 1951, a young African-American woman walked into Johns Hopkins Hospital complaining of a "knot" in her womb. Little did she know that the cells taken from her cervical cancer would revolutionize medicine forever. While Henrietta died at the age of 31, her cells—dubbed "HeLa"—continued to live, becoming the first immortal human cell line. These remarkable cells have been used to develop the polio vaccine, study the effects of zero gravity in space, advance cancer research, and contribute to over 17,000 patents. Yet for decades, the woman behind these cells remained virtually unknown, her identity obscured while her cells traveled around the world. Henrietta's story transcends science to illuminate the complex intersections of race, ethics, and medicine in America. It reveals how a poor tobacco farmer's cells became one of the most important tools in medicine while her family remained unaware for decades, unable to afford the very healthcare her cells helped advance. Through Henrietta's legacy, we witness the evolution of bioethics, the exploitation that often accompanied scientific progress, and the resilience of a family seeking recognition for their mother's unwitting contribution to science. Her immortal cells force us to confront essential questions about who owns our bodies after we die, the meaning of informed consent, and how we balance scientific progress with human dignity.

Chapter 1: From Tobacco Fields to Medical History

Henrietta Lacks was born Loretta Pleasant on August 1, 1920, in Roanoke, Virginia, though no one knows how she became known as Henrietta. After her mother died giving birth to her tenth child in 1924, Henrietta's father, Johnny Pleasant, took his children back to Clover, Virginia, where their grandfather was a former slave who had continued working the same tobacco farm after emancipation. Unable to care for all his children alone, Johnny distributed them among relatives. Four-year-old Henrietta was sent to live with her grandfather and cousin David "Day" Lacks in a small wooden cabin that had once served as slave quarters. Life in Clover was defined by tobacco farming, a demanding existence where everyone, including children, worked the fields from sunrise to sunset. Henrietta began working alongside her cousins at a young age, tending tobacco plants and helping with the harvest. Despite the hardship, those who knew her described a vibrant young woman with a natural elegance. She was known for her bright red nail polish, which she kept perfectly maintained even after long days in the fields. She loved to dance, and neighbors recalled how she would turn the floor of her cousin Emmett's general store into an impromptu dance floor on Saturday nights. At fourteen, Henrietta gave birth to her first child, Lawrence, fathered by her cousin Day. Five years later, they had another child, Elsie, who showed signs of developmental disabilities from an early age. Henrietta and Day married in 1941, as America entered World War II. Like many Black Southerners during the Great Migration, the couple moved north to Turner Station, Maryland, seeking better opportunities. Day found work at the Sparrows Point steel mill, one of the few places willing to employ Black workers. Though the pay was better than farming, the family still lived in poverty in the segregated community outside Baltimore. By 1950, Henrietta had given birth to three more children—David Jr. (known as Sonny), Deborah, and Joseph. She was known as a generous woman who would "give you her last dollar" and was famous for her cooking, particularly her sweet potato pie. Neighbors remembered how she always kept an immaculate house and took pride in caring for her family. Despite the challenges of raising five children in cramped quarters, Henrietta maintained her vivacious spirit, often seen in her signature style—bright dresses with matching headscarves and those unforgettable red nails. In November 1950, after giving birth to Joseph, Henrietta felt something wrong. She found a hard lump on her cervix and told her cousins, "I got a knot inside me." She initially kept her concerns private, continuing to care for her family while experiencing concerning symptoms. It wasn't until January 1951, when the pain and abnormal bleeding became unbearable, that Henrietta finally sought medical attention at Johns Hopkins Hospital—the only facility in the area that would treat Black patients. This decision would unknowingly alter the course of medical history and create an immortal legacy that continues to this day.

Chapter 2: The Cells That Changed Medicine Forever

On January 29, 1951, Henrietta sat nervously in the "colored" section of Johns Hopkins gynecological clinic. When Dr. Howard Jones examined her, he discovered a lesion unlike anything he had seen before—a shiny, purple mass about the size of a nickel on her cervix. The doctor took a biopsy and sent it to the pathology lab. The diagnosis came back as epidermoid carcinoma of the cervix, though it would later be correctly identified as an aggressive adenocarcinoma. Without explaining the details or seeking her consent, doctors began treating Henrietta with radium therapy—the standard treatment at the time—which involved sewing radium-filled tubes onto the cervix to kill the cancer cells. What Henrietta didn't know was that during her first treatment, Dr. George Gey, a researcher at Hopkins, had requested samples of her cervical tissue. This was standard practice at the time—doctors routinely took tissue samples from patients without their knowledge or consent, particularly from charity cases like Henrietta. Dr. Gey had been attempting to grow human cells outside the body for decades, but all previous attempts had failed; cells would die after a few days. However, when his lab assistant, Mary Kubicek, processed Henrietta's cells, something unprecedented happened—they didn't just survive, they multiplied at an astonishing rate, doubling every 24 hours. Meanwhile, Henrietta's condition deteriorated rapidly. The radiation treatments left her in excruciating pain, with burns across her abdomen. She continued to care for her family as long as she could, never telling her children about her illness. By August 1951, just seven months after her diagnosis, the cancer had metastasized throughout her body. Her once vibrant complexion turned ashen, and her slim frame became swollen with tumors. Her cousin Sadie later recalled visiting Henrietta in the hospital, where she cried out in pain, "Lord, I can't take this no more!" The radiation had done little to slow the aggressive cancer. On October 4, 1951, with her husband Day at her side, Henrietta Lacks died at the age of 31. Her family was devastated. Her daughter Deborah, just a child, was told little about what happened to her mother. Elsie, Henrietta's eldest daughter who had been institutionalized for her disabilities, would never understand why her mother stopped visiting. Day struggled to care for the remaining children, eventually sending them to live with different relatives. The family buried Henrietta in an unmarked grave in Clover, in a family cemetery where the tombstones were handmade. As Henrietta's family mourned, her cells—now called "HeLa" after the first two letters of her first and last name—continued to thrive in Dr. Gey's lab. Within months, he began sharing them with researchers around the world. While Henrietta's body succumbed to cancer, parts of her would achieve a kind of immortality that would transform modern medicine. Yet her family remained unaware that as they grieved, Henrietta's cells were beginning an extraordinary scientific journey that continues to this day.

Chapter 3: A Family Left in the Dark

For more than twenty years after Henrietta's death, her family had no idea that her cells lived on. Her husband Day had agreed to an autopsy, believing it might help his children someday, but no one had told him about the cells being grown in culture or distributed worldwide. The Lacks children grew up in poverty and hardship, unaware of their mother's extraordinary contribution to science. After Henrietta's death, her children were often left in the care of Ethel, a woman who had always been jealous of Henrietta. Ethel was cruel, particularly to Henrietta's youngest children - Deborah, Sonny, and Joe. She beat them regularly, sometimes locking Joe in a dark basement corner, forcing him to stand on one foot with his nose pressed to the wall. If his foot wasn't in the air when she checked on him, she'd whip his back with a belt. The abuse left deep scars, especially on Joe, who grew into what the family called "the meanest, angriest child any Lacks had ever known." Deborah, Henrietta's only surviving daughter, suffered her own traumas. She was molested by Ethel's husband, Galen, and grew up desperately missing the mother she never knew. All Day would tell her was, "Her name was Henrietta Lacks, and she died when you was too young to remember." Deborah constantly wondered about her mother and her older sister Elsie, who had been institutionalized and died at fifteen. She would lie awake at night worrying about what might have happened to them. The family's first hint of Henrietta's cells came in 1973, when a family friend mentioned working with "HeLa cells" at the National Cancer Institute. When he realized these cells came from Henrietta Lacks, Bobbette, Lawrence's wife, was stunned. "Part of your mother, it's alive!" she told her husband. The family tried calling Johns Hopkins but couldn't get answers. Soon after, researchers from Johns Hopkins contacted the family, asking for blood samples. The scientists were trying to develop genetic markers to identify HeLa cells, which had been contaminating other cell cultures. But they didn't properly explain this to the family, who believed they were being tested for cancer. When a young reporter named Michael Rogers published an article about HeLa cells in Rolling Stone in 1976, it was the first time anyone had told the true story of Henrietta Lacks and her family. The Lackses learned that Henrietta's cells had been commercialized - companies were selling vials of HeLa cells for about $25 each. This revelation left them angry and confused. As Lawrence put it, "If our mother so important to science, why can't we get health insurance?" The irony was stark: while Henrietta's cells were being used to advance medicine in ways that would save countless lives and generate significant wealth, her own children couldn't afford proper medical care.

Chapter 4: The Ethics of Tissue and Consent

The story of Henrietta Lacks and her cells raises profound questions about scientific ethics, informed consent, and the dignity of human subjects. When Henrietta's cells were taken in 1951, there were no laws requiring doctors to inform patients when their tissues would be used for research. The concept of "informed consent" was still evolving, and the Nuremberg Code - established after World War II to prevent abuses in human experimentation - was often viewed by American researchers as something that applied to "barbarians and dictators," not to American doctors. The racial context cannot be ignored. Henrietta was a Black woman in the segregated South, treated in the "colored ward" at Johns Hopkins. Many Black patients at that time were wary of hospitals, with stories circulating about "night doctors" who kidnapped Black people for research. These fears weren't entirely unfounded - the Tuskegee syphilis study, in which Black men were left untreated for syphilis without their knowledge, was still ongoing when Henrietta's cells were taken. For the Lacks family, the taking of Henrietta's cells without permission felt like yet another exploitation. As Bobbette Lacks put it, "Everybody always saying Henrietta Lacks donated those cells. She didn't donate nothing. They took them and didn't ask." The family was particularly upset that while Henrietta's cells had generated millions of dollars in profits for biotech companies, they couldn't afford health insurance or medical care. The case of John Moore in the 1980s highlighted similar issues. Moore's doctor used his cells to develop a patented cell line worth billions without his knowledge. Moore sued, claiming property rights over his tissues, but ultimately lost. The California Supreme Court ruled that when tissues are removed from your body, any claim to ownership vanishes. This decision set a precedent that continues to influence tissue research today. The scientific community has often justified these practices by arguing that restricting access to human tissues would impede medical progress. As the dean of Stanford University School of Medicine once said, if patients objected to the use of their tissues, "I guess you could sit there with your ruptured appendix and negotiate." This attitude reflects a tension between advancing science for the greater good and respecting individual rights. Over time, laws and regulations have evolved to provide greater protections. The 1974 National Research Act established requirements for informed consent and institutional review boards. The Health Insurance Portability and Accountability Act (HIPAA) of 1996 created penalties for disclosing private medical information. And the Genetic Information Nondiscrimination Act of 2008 provided protections against genetic discrimination. Yet these changes came too late for Henrietta and her family, raising the question: Is it possible to balance scientific advancement with respect for human dignity?

Chapter 5: Scientific Revolution Through HeLa Cells

The reach of HeLa cells across global medicine is almost impossible to quantify. By conservative estimates, scientists have grown more than 50 million metric tons of Henrietta's cells, and if you could lay all HeLa cells ever grown end-to-end, they would wrap around the Earth at least three times. These cells have traveled to space aboard satellites to test the effects of zero gravity on human tissue. They've been bombarded with radiation, infected with countless viruses and bacteria, and exposed to toxins and drugs to advance our understanding of how human cells respond to various threats and treatments. HeLa cells were instrumental in developing the polio vaccine, a breakthrough that has saved millions of lives worldwide. Jonas Salk's team used these immortal cells to test the vaccine before human trials, a critical step that would have been impossible without a standardized human cell line. Beyond polio, HeLa cells have contributed to vaccines for papillomavirus (which can cause the type of cancer that killed Henrietta), measles, mumps, and other infectious diseases. They've been used to develop drugs for treating herpes, leukemia, influenza, hemophilia, and Parkinson's disease. The cells revolutionized our understanding of human genetics and cellular biology. In 1953, when scientists were still debating how many chromosomes humans had, HeLa cells helped establish the correct number as 46. They were crucial in developing techniques for freezing cells without destroying them, allowing for the long-term storage of biological materials. HeLa cells were the first human cells successfully cloned in 1955 and have been used to study the effects of nuclear radiation, cosmetics, and countless other substances on human tissue. Perhaps most significantly, HeLa cells helped establish the field of virology and advance cancer research. Because they grow so rapidly and are so resilient, they provide an ideal medium for studying how viruses infect cells and how cancer develops and spreads. In the 1980s, Harald zur Hausen discovered that Henrietta's cancer had been caused by Human Papillomavirus (HPV), specifically HPV-18, one of the most virulent strains. This discovery eventually led to the development of the HPV vaccine, which now prevents the very type of cancer that killed Henrietta. The scientific papers published using HeLa cells number in the tens of thousands, with more than 60,000 studies referencing them by 2009. Even today, HeLa remains one of the most commonly used cell lines in laboratories worldwide. As oncologist Howard Jones, who first diagnosed Henrietta's cancer, reflected: "It was the worst of times for the patient, but it was the best of times for science and ultimately for mankind." This duality—the personal tragedy of Henrietta's death juxtaposed with the immeasurable benefits her cells have provided to humanity—remains at the heart of the HeLa story.

Chapter 6: The Quest for Recognition and Justice

For decades, the scientific community benefited from HeLa cells while Henrietta Lacks remained largely unknown, often referred to by pseudonyms like "Helen Lane" in textbooks and scientific papers. It wasn't until the 1970s that her real name began appearing in scientific literature, and even then, many researchers knew nothing about the woman behind the cells. Meanwhile, her family continued to live in poverty, unable to afford the very medical treatments her cells had helped develop. This stark disparity raised uncomfortable questions about justice, recognition, and who benefits from scientific progress. The path toward recognition began to shift in the 1990s. In 1996, Morehouse School of Medicine organized the first HeLa Cancer Control Symposium to honor Henrietta's contribution to science. Dr. Roland Pattillo, who had worked with George Gey and felt a personal connection to Henrietta's story, invited the Lacks family to attend. For the first time, scientists publicly acknowledged their debt to Henrietta, and the city of Atlanta declared October 11 "Henrietta Lacks Day." For Deborah and her brothers, this recognition was deeply meaningful—finally, their mother was being honored rather than just her cells. As awareness of Henrietta's story grew, so did calls for more substantive forms of justice. Some argued that the family deserved financial compensation for the commercial use of HeLa cells, which had generated millions in profits for biotech companies. Others focused on the need for educational opportunities for Henrietta's descendants, many of whom couldn't afford college. The family themselves had varying perspectives—some wanted financial restitution, while others, particularly Deborah, focused on ensuring their mother's story was accurately told and her contribution properly acknowledged. In 2010, sixty years after Henrietta's cells were taken, Johns Hopkins University began taking steps to honor her legacy. They established the Henrietta Lacks Symposium, created scholarships in her name, and worked with the family to develop educational programs about her contribution to science. Other institutions followed suit, with the National Institutes of Health creating agreements with the family to give them some say in how Henrietta's genomic data would be used in future research. In 2018, Johns Hopkins announced plans to name a new research building after Henrietta Lacks. Perhaps most significantly, Henrietta's story catalyzed important changes in bioethics. Her case has become a cornerstone in discussions about informed consent, tissue rights, and the ethical use of human biological materials. Modern consent forms now typically include language about the potential use of tissues in research, and many institutions have established bioethics committees to address these complex issues. While these changes came too late for Henrietta, they represent an important legacy that extends beyond the scientific contributions of her cells.

Chapter 7: Beyond Science: A Legacy of Humanity

Henrietta Lacks's legacy extends far beyond the scientific breakthroughs enabled by her cells. Her story has become a powerful symbol of the intersection of race, ethics, and medicine in American history. HeLa cells have contributed to over 17,000 patents and more than 110,000 scientific publications, but Henrietta's personal impact transcends these numbers. The revelation of how Henrietta's cells were taken without consent sparked important conversations about medical ethics. Her story helped expose the historical mistreatment of marginalized communities in healthcare settings and contributed to the development of more stringent informed consent requirements. Today, researchers must obtain explicit permission before using identifiable tissues for research, and patients have greater control over what happens to their biological materials. For the scientific community, HeLa cells revolutionized how research is conducted. Before HeLa, growing human cells in the laboratory was nearly impossible. Henrietta's immortal cells provided researchers with a standardized human cell line that could be used to test theories, develop vaccines, and study the effects of drugs, radiation, and toxic substances. They were essential to developing the polio vaccine, have been used in research on cancer, AIDS, and countless other diseases, and even traveled to space to help scientists understand the effects of zero gravity on human cells. The discovery of how HeLa cells achieve immortality - through an enzyme called telomerase that rebuilds their telomeres - has led to important insights into aging and cancer. This understanding may someday help scientists develop treatments that extend human life or stop cancer cells from growing. The genetic changes that made Henrietta's cancer so aggressive - including infection with HPV-18 - have been studied extensively, leading to the development of HPV vaccines that now prevent the type of cancer that took her life. Perhaps most profoundly, Henrietta's story has humanized cell research. As Mary Kubicek, the lab technician who first processed Henrietta's cells, recalled: "When I saw those toenails, I nearly fainted. I thought, Oh jeez, she's a real person. I started imagining her sitting in her bathroom painting those toenails, and it hit me for the first time that those cells we'd been working with all this time and sending all over the world, they came from a live woman. I'd never thought of it that way." For the Lacks family, particularly Deborah, learning about Henrietta's cells provided a connection to the mother they barely knew. Though Deborah struggled with the knowledge that parts of her mother were being subjected to radiation, viruses, and countless experiments, she ultimately took pride in Henrietta's contribution. "I think she would be happy that her cells helped so many people," Deborah once said. Today, Henrietta's name is known worldwide, her story taught in schools and universities, discussed in medical ethics courses, and inspiring countless individuals to advocate for patients' rights.

Summary

Henrietta Lacks's immortal cells changed the world, yet she died without knowing the profound gift she had unwittingly given to humanity. Her story embodies one of the most powerful paradoxes in modern medicine: how a personal tragedy—the death of a young mother from an aggressive cancer—could simultaneously spark countless medical breakthroughs that have saved millions of lives. Beyond the scientific revolution her cells enabled, Henrietta's legacy has forced us to confront essential questions about the intersection of race, poverty, and medical ethics. Her story reveals how scientific progress has often come at the expense of vulnerable populations, particularly people of color, while challenging us to create systems where medical advancement and human dignity can coexist. The journey of HeLa cells from an unknown woman's cancer to a cornerstone of modern medicine teaches us that scientific progress must be coupled with ethical consideration and human recognition. It reminds us that behind every biological sample is a human story worthy of acknowledgment and respect. For researchers, healthcare providers, and policymakers, Henrietta's legacy demands a commitment to informed consent and equitable access to the benefits of medical research. For the rest of us, it offers a powerful reminder that ordinary lives can have extraordinary impact, and that true justice requires not just scientific advancement but also recognition of the individuals who make that advancement possible. Through her immortal cells, Henrietta Lacks continues to heal, teach, and transform our world—a legacy that extends far beyond the laboratory to touch the very heart of what it means to be human.

About Author

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Rebecca Skloot

Rebecca Skloot is an award winning science writer whose work has appeared in The New York Times Magazine; O, The Oprah Magazine; Discover; and many other publications. She specializes in narrative science writing and has explored a wide range of topics, including goldfish surgery, tissue ownership rights, race and medicine, food politics, and packs of wild dogs in Manhattan. She has worked as a correspondent for WNYC’s Radiolab and PBS’s Nova ScienceNOW. She and her father, Floyd Skloot, are co-editors of The Best American Science Writing 2011 . You can read a selection of Rebecca Skloot's magazine writing on the Articles page of this site. The Immortal Life of Henrietta Lacks , Skloot's debut book, took more than a decade to research and write, and instantly became a New York Times best-seller. She has been featured on numerous television shows, including CBS Sunday Morning, The Colbert Report, Fox Business News, and others, and was named One of Five Surprising Leaders of 2010 by the Washington Post. The Immortal Life was chosen as a best book of 2010 by more than 60 media outlets, including Entertainment Weekly, USA Today, O the Oprah Magazine, Los Angeles Times, National Public Radio, People Magazine, New York Times, and U.S. News and World Report; it was named The Best Book of 2010 by Amazon.com and a Barnes and Noble Discover Great New Writers Pick. It has won numerous awards, including the Chicago Tribune Heartland Prize for Nonfiction, the Wellcome Trust Book Prize, and two Goodreads Choice Awards for Best Nonfiction Book of the Year and Best Debut Author of the year. It has received widespread critical acclaim, with reviews appearing in The New Yorker, Washington Post, Science, and many others. Dwight Garner of the New York Times said, "I put down Rebecca Skloot's first book, "The Immortal Life of Henrietta Lacks," more than once. Ten times, probably. Once to poke the fire. Once to silence a pinging BlackBerry. And eight times to chase my wife and assorted visitors around the house, to tell them I was holding one of the most graceful and moving nonfiction books I've read in a very long time …It has brains and pacing and nerve and heart.” See the press page of this site for more reactions to the book.Share your story and join the conversation on the HeLa Forum. Watch video testimonials at Readers Talk.

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