It was 1998. Seems like a lifetime ago and I guess it was. Clinton was our President. I was attending graduate school. The funds in my 401K were rising rapidly. Gasoline cost $1.25 a gallon. Years ago.
My mom collapsed one afternoon when an aneurysm in her brain ruptured. Subarachnoid hemorrhage. Crainiectomy. She remained comatose for more than a month. It was during the summer when the papers printed Starr's report. I read it to my mother (even the part about the cigar), paragraph after paragraph, because after spending weeks talking to a silent body I ran out of material. That's what I remember from the summer of '98 - Starr's report, drinking Ensure to replace the calories I was no longer consuming, the sounds when you suction a tracheotomy, a race for homerun King and counting the seconds between mom's breaths.
We brought my mom home in November along with a hospital bed, wheelchair and a dozen different prescriptions. My dad and I practiced our skills with the diaper genie until mastery was obtained. I dropped out of school to become a stay at home daughter. Like many of my peers who were starting families, I spent the limited hours in each day dressing, bathing and feeding the one I loved. Over time, with much repetition, I even taught her basic skills such as walking and eating.
In an effort to gain support and information I spent hours searching the internet for anything on stroke or brain injury. While finding sites detailing how to cope with stress, implementation of the latest therapies and navigation of insurance policies, I happened across discussion of stem cells.
Here was hope! Perhaps stem cells could bring back my mother to me. The woman who taught elementary school, played trumpet in a local band and created homemade jelly with grapes gathered from vines growing in her back yard. My mother whose love for me was a palpable force. Maybe a miracle cure existed and she would remember my name or stop hallucinating. If it worked I would no longer have to call 911 and wait for the EMS while her body was racked by seizures.
Even though I only completed one quarter of science in college, it was obvious after some perusal that this research would never benefit my mother. She had already exceeded her life expectancy. Plus her situation was too complicated with too many different variables that would confound any study. Still the more I read the more I held out hope - no longer for my mother but for me and her grandchildren. Life deals its cards haphazardly with each of us being eligible for a debilitating disease or disabling condition.
In 2001 I made a point of watching Bush attempt to articulate his decision. During the campaign I refused to view the debates with Gore because Dubya's inane perceptions along with his manner of speaking irritate me but I had to watch this broadcast. I know this is not a direct quote but what I heard him say is "The blastocysts win!" It was glaringly apparent that these clumps of cells were more important than the millions of Americans who could benefit from these advances.
I've spent the past five years writing and calling my elected representatives in Washington D.C., from the President on down. I suppose some of these individuals really do believe that a blastocyst and a living, breathing human being are equal life forms. No doubt some are playing politics with people's lives as they often do. But I think a portion of them have just been the recipients of blind luck. They've never had to look into the eyes of a parent and realize there was no recognition. They've never had to watch a family member struggle and fail to complete the most basic task because their hands were too tremulous. They've never had to sit by impotently while a loved one struggled to live. And because they lack any empathy or awareness of others they cannot see the immorality of placing a blastocyst above the alleviation of suffering.
I realize this research will continue outside of the USA. The potential within embryonic stem cells will be illuminated by other - dare I say more advanced - countries.
Unfortunately it is too late for my mother.
It's too late for Christopher Reeve.
It's too late for my friend Don who died from complications after his stroke.
It's too late for Ronald Reagan.
It's too late for "Shorty" who died from Alzheimer's.
It's too late for Richard Pryor.
It's too late for my friend John's father who died from Alzheimer's last year.
As I watched his interview today it was apparent that time is running out for Michael J. Fox.
It may also be too late for Muhammad Ali.
But I hope it's not too late for my nieces and nephews....