What's the definition of immortality?

We had a big debate at book group last night about "The Immortal Life of Henrietta Lacks," the book by University of Memphis prof Rebecca Skloot.

The scientists among us argued that it wasn't, in fact, Henrietta--unwittingly the source of a replicating cell culture known as HeLa--who was immortal. It was her cells. Therefore, she wasn't immortal at all, the inference being that the premise of the book was somehow flawed.

And, they asked, what were the ethical issues of taking a cell culture from the African-American woman who, in 1951, was dying of cervical cancer at Johns Hopkins, a hospital established to treat the poor? It was routinely done at the time, long before anyone ever heard of informed consent. It is routinely done today, when we often sign medical forms without reading or questioning the documents.

And what, after all, did the family deserve as a result of her famous cells? Wouldn't their lives have been essentially the same even if her contributions had been known?

Probably the greatest ethical issue of the book, a social scientist argued, was the breach of confidentiality in identifying Henrietta. Her family discovered it only when her name became public, and they struggled to understand what "immortal" meant. Was their mother cloned?

Others saw the ironies. Henrietta, by virtue of her "immortal" cells, was the source of medical advancements, even breakthroughs, and the HeLa cells are around even today. Yet her family couldn't afford medical care. Wasn't the book really about putting a human face on the research by telling Henrietta's story? A commentary on the profound differences in treatment according to race and class? A view of the cultural and economic chasms that still exist in medical care?

Wasn't it a well-told story of how one simple act can lead to a exponentially complex web of consequences?

I urge you to read the book and decide for yourself.