Henrietta Lacks probably didn’t seem so immortal to doctors when she was first diagnosed at Johns Hopkins Hospital in 1951.
The poor 31-year-old African American woman — the subject of a best-selling book, “The Immortal Life of Henrietta Lacks,” and a new HBO movie starring Oprah Winfrey — was suffering from cervical cancer.
“It was generally a death sentence then,” said Patricia Eifel, a professor of radiation oncology at the MD Anderson Center in Houston.
Today, the disease is considered a cancer success story. Routine screening and improved treatment have driven its rates down from a major cause of death among women to one of the rarest: Cervical cancer ranks just 14th in cancer frequency, and deaths from the disease have fallen some 70 percent since the 1950s.
But when Lacks, a mother of five, was being treated in East Baltimore during the Truman era, it was an illness clouded in secrecy, shame and dread.
It wouldn’t be until the 1980s that the sexually transmitted Human Papillomavirus (HPV) was identified as the cause of most cervical cancer, but it still had whispered associations with sex, a disease of the poor and promiscuous.
“Nuns famously didn’t get cervical cancer, you would hear that in medical school,” said Eifel, who has worked in the field for 30 years.
Lacks, in the public “colored wards” of the world-renowned hospital, got the standard treatment for invasive cervical cancer at the time. Doctors stitched tubes and pouches filled with radium inside her cervix, sewing them and packing them in place.
At the same time, without her knowledge or consent, the surgeon snipped a sample of her tumor for a research team down the hall. Those cells grew robustly in the lab and became the famous “HeLa” line of cells that would transform medical research, even as Lacks’s children struggled to understand their mother’s fate. That story of discovery, ethics and race is told in the HBO movie debuting Saturday.
As the HeLa cells thrived, Henrietta herself failed, dying in agony a few months after the treatment. “She really had her cancer at the wrong time,” Eifel said.
One month after Lacks was buried, another woman whose name would live forever was wheeled into an operating room to be treated for cervical cancer, and she didn’t even know it. Eva Peron, the glamorous and powerful wife of Argentinian President Juan Peron, was never told she had the disease.
Evita thought she was having a procedure by a leading Buenos Aries surgeon to stop some cervical bleeding. Instead, after she was anesthetized, George Pack, a cancer specialist from New York who had been flown secretly to South America, entered the O.R. and performed a radical hysterectomy.
There was a such a taboo around cancer that many doctors didn’t want to use the C-word at all, lest the patient lose hope—or commit suicide—at a time when cancer seemed always to lead to a coffin.
“There were a lot of euphemisms used at that time: ‘You have a tumor,’ ‘You have an inflammation that we need to take out,’” said Barron Lerner, a physician and medical historian at New York University who has written about the Peron case.
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SOURCE: The Washington Post – Steve Hendrix