“Stem cells are life! Don’t destroy life! Those embryos have rights too!” The imagined cries of protesters echo in my mind as I sift through the stack of waivers, medical recommendations, and case studies spread out on my kitchen table. They arrived in a conspicuously large manila envelope, and I had to resist the impulse to conceal it under my shirt during my “play it cool” stride back to the house. Could the homeowners association come after me for this? Are these documents even compliant with the neighborhood guidelines?
The reality is that few understand what this journey entails. Most people don’t look beyond the headlines or the placards that advocate for rights. I certainly didn’t, until I had to confront the truth — my son requires stem cells to help him walk, talk, and move freely.
Cerebral palsy isn’t something you can simply “work through.” It’s not a condition you can overcome, as our insurance is all too keen to remind us. We do everything we can; we have our go-to physical, feeding, speech, and occupational therapists. Our son participates in equine therapy and swims in private pools for aquatic therapy. Yet, it still isn’t enough.
He relies on a wheelchair, a walker, and a stander, and despite all of this, it still falls short. I would do anything for him, but I know he yearns for more than just a mom navigating him through life. And so, I find myself pouring over forms, signing waivers, and calling pathologists and study coordinators at the university where we’ll take part in this stem cell study.
The term “stem cell” often conjures images of tiny, developing embryos destined to become babies. It makes you want to hold your children closer, cherishing their wholeness. But let me clarify — it’s not what you may think. As a mother of three who has gone through numerous IVF cycles and still has three “frosties” in the freezer, I would never consider taking embryos from any source.
Stem cell research has advanced significantly. Our stem cells come from leftover blood cells from donor umbilical cords and placentas. We’re immensely grateful to all the mothers who chose to donate rather than discard theirs. We need those regenerative qualities for our son.
Will this be the “miracle solution” that regenerates his damaged brain cells, transforming him into a superhero? Will it allow his wheelchair to gather dust and his sign-language lessons to be put away? I can’t say for sure. But I am determined to try. I want to offer my son the best chance at a fulfilling life, whatever form that may take.
Yet, I hesitate to share our leap of faith with others. I worry about the mental images they will conjure — of defenseless embryos being dismantled and handed over to us. I feel the need to explain myself before even starting. I want my narrative to be broader and clearer than any misconceptions. I yearn for a platform of my own.
For now, I will engage with my manila envelope and face the unspoken fears as they arise (or don’t) because that’s what you do for your children. You confront societal norms, hoping the world will be more accepting by the time they step into it.
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Summary
The author navigates the complex world of stem cell treatment for her son with cerebral palsy, sharing her emotional journey while dispelling misconceptions about stem cells. She emphasizes the importance of understanding the sources of stem cells and acknowledges the sacrifices made by mothers who donate. The piece highlights the hope parents have for their children’s futures, despite societal judgments.