The story of Henrietta Lacks, the woman who revolutionized world science after her death

The story of Henrietta Lacks is a rare case of an ordinary woman's life changing the face of global medicine. She led a quiet life, raising five children, but her death entered textbooks and forever changed science. Today, her name stands for discoveries that have saved millions of lives and given us vaccines, chemotherapy, and an understanding of genetics.

On October 4, 1951, researcher George Gey of the Johns Hopkins University in Baltimore, Maryland, announced a breakthrough that would change the course of medicine. He had successfully grown the world's first human cell line capable of indefinitely dividing. These cells were so resilient that they even survived being shipped by regular mail.

This was a colossal event. Until that day, no one had managed to keep human cells alive outside the body. The new line was called HeLa. That's how Dr. Mary Kubicek's lab technician labeled the vial containing the samples. They were the first letters of the patient's first and last name, but the name itself was of no interest at the time.

Johns Hopkins Hospital had a free ward for African Americans. Patients in this ward were never asked for permission for medical procedures, much less for the use of their biomaterials. The fact is, they were all Black. They weren't even asked to sign a consent form—the kind required by law for white patients.

The name Henrietta Lacks only became known to the world in the 2000s, thanks to writer and physician Rebecca Skloot. While still a student, at eighteen, Rebecca came across the name HeLa and wanted to know who was behind those letters. She managed to drag from oblivion the story of the woman who unwittingly provided science with one of the greatest tools of the 20th century.

Henrietta Lacks was born on August 1, 1920, in Roanoke, Virginia, as Loretta Pleasant. No one knows exactly when or why she changed her name. She came from a family of African-Americans whose ancestors had been enslaved for generations.

Slavery was abolished in 1865, but the family remained on the same red Virginia soil and continued to grow tobacco—the only thing they knew how to do. Until 1924, the Pleasants lived in a dilapidated shack. But after the family's mother, Eliza, died giving birth to their tenth child, the father took the children to the town of Clover.

However, everything remained the same in Clover—the family was once again planting and harvesting tobacco. Due to poverty, the father gave his children to wealthier relatives. Thus, Henrietta ended up in the home of her grandfather, Tommy Lacks. Several cousins, whom her parents also couldn't feed, lived there with her.

According to the customs of the time, African-American children attended school up to the fifth or sixth grade. This was considered sufficient for plantation work: planting, watering, drying, and sorting tobacco. This is precisely the education Henrietta received. Even as a teenager, it was clear she would grow up to be a beauty—her slender figure, soft features, and bright smile.

At fourteen, Henrietta became pregnant by her cousin David. They began living as husband and wife, and in 1941, they were officially married. That same year, the young couple left Virginia and moved to Baltimore, Maryland. There, David found a well-paying job in a steel mill.

The couple's children were born one after another. After their firstborn, Lawrence, came Elsie, David Jr., Deborah, and Joseph. Henrietta was a caring mother and kind woman—they always had a place in their home for the children of poor relatives.

Their youngest son, Joseph, was born in 1950. A few months after giving birth, Henrietta began bleeding heavily. On February 1, 1951, her husband took her to the free ward for blacks at Johns Hopkins Hospital. It was the best free clinic in the area, with clean rooms, decent restrooms, and drinking fountains.

During an examination, the doctor discovered a shiny, purple growth on her cervix, the size of a small coin. A biopsy confirmed the most terrifying diagnosis: a malignant tumor. Cancer cell samples were immediately sent to George Gey's lab without the patient's permission. The lab technician labeled the vials "HeLa"—a combination of the first and last letters of her first and last names.

Dr. Gey put the test tube away in a cabinet and forgot about it. After a while, he picked it up again and couldn't believe his eyes. Usually, cancer cells quickly died in the test tube. But these not only survived, but began to rapidly multiply. They were dividing every 24 hours, and the process continued.

Thus, the first immortal human cell line in history was born. The cells continued to live and multiply, while Henrietta herself was rapidly declining. She was diagnosed with an extremely aggressive form of cervical cancer and began treatment with the standard of the time—radium irradiation.

High doses of radiation caused severe burns, but were believed to also destroy tumors. Hopkins Clinic was one of the first in America to use radium against cancer. The hospital's chief surgeon, Howard Kelly, personally visited Pierre and Marie Curie, who discovered radium and actively promoted its use in medicine.

At the time, radium was considered safer and more effective than surgery. The method was simple: a capsule containing radium was inserted into the cervix for several weeks. It was then removed, in the hope that the tumor had been completely destroyed.

At first, the treatment seemed to be working. But for Henrietta, it proved fatal—her cancer didn't respond to radiation. Doctors later admitted that if her uterus had been removed immediately, she could have lived for many more years. But precious time was lost, and the cancer metastasized.

Eight months after starting treatment, Henrietta died. Her body was taken to her family in Clover and buried on October 4, 1951. There wasn't even a headstone, just an unmarked wooden cross. That same day, Dr. George Gey addressed the press and announced his triumph. He had introduced the world to the "immortal" HeLa cell line.

This culture became one of the major scientific breakthroughs of the 20th century. HeLa cells live outside the body, divide endlessly, and do so twice as fast as normal cells. They have lost the natural mechanism that limits the number of divisions.

This is why HeLa cells are capable of endless reproduction. Their "immortality" is due to the fact that the cells constantly produce the enzyme telomerase, which repairs the ends of chromosomes and prevents cells from aging.

Henrietta Lacks's cells have been in space: in 1960, on the Soviet Sputnik (to study their behavior in zero gravity), and in 1969, on the Moon with American astronauts. It was with HeLa cells that the polio vaccine was created, chemotherapy was developed, and cell cloning was discovered. Without them, IVF and dozens of other key technologies would not exist.

In the 1980s, scientists discovered that Henrietta's cells were initially infected with human papillomavirus type 18. This was the cause of her cancer. This discovery formed the basis for modern HPV vaccines, which reduce cervical cancer mortality by approximately 70%.

HeLa cells have been used to study everything from lactose intolerance and sexually transmitted infections to appendicitis, lifespan, mosquito behavior, and the effects of working in sewers on human health.

HeLa chromosomes and proteins were studied down to the last nucleotide. Over time, they became as common a laboratory tool as white mice. Today, Henrietta cells are found in the refrigerator of virtually every molecular biology laboratory worldwide.

For many years, only George Gey knew whose cells had given science immortality. The Lacks family only learned the truth in the 1970s. At that time, the woman's descendants received no compensation. There was no one to sue—all the defendants had already died by then.

It wasn't until 2021 that the family's descendants filed a lawsuit against Thermo Fisher Scientific, which had been profiting from HeLa cells for decades without the family's consent. Attorney Ben Crump accused the company of exploiting Henrietta's condition and engaging in medical racism. After a protracted legal battle, the family finally received compensation and official recognition of their mother's contribution.

The case of Henrietta Lacks is one of the most high-profile examples of informed consent violations in 20th-century medicine. Today, books are written and films are made about her. All the world can do now is preserve her name. In 2010, Dr. Roland Pattillo discovered her unmarked grave and erected a monument in the shape of an open book.

Today, Henrietta Lacks's legacy lives on in every laboratory around the world. Her cells helped science make giant strides and continue to save lives. And her story forces us to revisit questions of medical ethics and human rights.

Do you believe that scientific progress can justify the use of biomaterial without a person's consent? Or should personal rights always take precedence? What would you have done if you were in those researchers' shoes?