Helter Shelter
I try to stay away from topics that could bring a horde of wild-eyed, pitchfork-waving single-issue types to my front door. But, don't you know, the fascinating topic of embryonic stem cell research has given me a bad itch and I'm just going to have to scratch it, right here and now.
Let me just say up front that I am not a biologist, a doctor, nor a Ph.D. any-dang-thing. The closest I ever came to biological research was harvesting pickled frog brains and pig testicles in 11th-grade biology class and slinging them at girls just to hear them squeal. When my daddy, Jabo Jowers, was still alive, he taught me a little something about building large-scale lab equipment that would produce tax- and lead-free alcohol. During that stretch, I was assigned to heavy lifting and soldering up the condensers. I never got to see anything actually ferment. Jabo called my role "bringing up the ignorant end." I freely admit that none of this experience qualifies me to talk about science at the cellular level. But, hell, I'm going to do it anyway.
Let's start with the basics: all manner of scientists, doctors and biotech types think that embryonic stem cells might eventually be made to grow into body parts, such as spinal cords, nerves, veins, arteries, skin and more. There's good reason to believe that embryonic stem cells can be grown to match any human body part, right down to hair and glamour-length nails. Sooner or later, somebody somewhere is going to be able to grow spare parts for ailing humans.
There will surely be some mistakes along the way. "Hey, Ernie, this vat of coronary arteries has some leg bone growing in it. Is that a problem?" There will be some cellular Edsels. Eventually, though, we'll either get to the Ferrari level, or we'll abandon the spare-parts project altogether.
I think growing spare parts for sick people is a fine idea. For instance, let's say a strapping teenage boy gets his spinal cord tweaked at football practice, and next thing he knows he's paralyzed from the neck down and hooked up to a ventilator, like Christopher Reeve was. Let's say a little stem cell tweaking in a lab could grow the boy a new piece of spinal cord, all ready to be spliced in. Let's say the kid could then snatch the ventilator out of his neck, stand up and run. Who's going to vote for paralysis? Not me.
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Maybe I'm selfish. Right now, I'm missing chunks of my saphenous veins. Six years ago, docs cut them right out of my legs and used them to bypass my coronary arteries. It was a fair enough trade, but I'd like to have my saphenous veins back. If somebody could grow me some new ones and sew them in without creating any new troubles, I'd cheerfully sign up for the surgery.
It'll be years before we find out how much we can do with embryonic stem cells. Could be that it's a dead-end project. Or it could be that we can use stem cells to help people suffering from heart disease, cancer, diabetes and neurological disorders.
I know, I know. There are people who oppose the idea of messing around with embryonic stem cells because they come from fertilized human eggs. Best I can tell, these well-meaning folks are serious about preserving human life.
Well, there's a big difference between human eggs and human beings, just like there's a big difference between my breakfast eggs and chickens. I like my eggs scrambled. In all my life, I've never heard anybody argue that scrambling an egg is a bad thing. You just crack the shell, mix up the white and the yolk, toss it around the frying pan, and there you go. It's easy work—and good eating.
Scrambled chicken is clearly a bad idea. Any decent chicken would fight like hell if it thought you were going scramble it. If it's a chicken with any gumption, it'll make you pay before you start the scrambling. It'll flap, it'll screech, it'll scratch and it'll poop all over you, the kitchen and the stove. If you do manage to get that sumbitch subdued and scrambled, you'll have beak, eyeballs, feathers, feet, guts and gizzards all mixed up. It would be a real bad day in the kitchen—and very bad eating.
I also have these guidelines for knowing a person when you see it:
♦ If it can be sucked up into an eyedropper, it's not a person.
♦ If you need a microscope to see it, and nothing in it or on it moves, it's not a person.
♦ If it's in a freezer, stored between 150 and 200 degrees below zero, it's not a person.
The cells in question were created outside of human bodies, in labs, in the hopes of helping women with fertility problems have babies. These are the fertilized eggs that didn't get implanted into a womb. They're tiny masses of undifferentiated cells—no organs, no systems, no moving parts, no thoughts. They're not going to be born.
They could do something, though. They could help people who are suffering get better—maybe even get well. Seems like the wise and respectful thing to do.