(67) Give An Inch, Walk A Mile

As the moon casts a sliver of its light across my page, moths flutter against the cold window. I can hear them somewhere in my mind as I stare at the lines, almost sensing their frustration at not being able to reach the bedside table lamp. Laying my head numbly against the headboard of the bed, I wonder if any of them could strike that glass with too much vigor and fall to the ground like a broken flower petal. Pausing though, I find that I can still make out the quiet wisps of their wings, and with a hint of bitterness I realize that they still remain, able to move freely about in the cool air. And then, hugging my knees under the comforter with papers scattered around me like those creatures outside, I am brought back to the events of that evening, the images of his face still fresh in my mind, the taste of that sandwich still on my tongue…

“I’ll just have the vegetable wrap, thank you.” Alvin Tooley replies as the waitress takes back our menus. The candle glows in the center of our table, making his skin appear even tanner, his eyes that much brighter. I am visiting my favorite cousin in Boston for vacation and tonight she and her guy-friend are treating me to a real Haavaad Yaad dinner.

“A vegetable wrap? Don’t you think that’s kind of girl-y?” I let my eyes raise slightly with a smirk as I cross my legs under the table and lay my napkin in my lap.

“Actually, the doctor says I can’t eat meat.” He eyes me steadily across the table for a moment, the only sound filling my ears being the crowds of laughing friends and couples around the bar. “Thanks for drawing attention to it though.” He stares down at his plate sullenly and I realize this with horror. Already feeling my cheeks turn crimson, I flounder in my mind helplessly for a way to backpedal my way through my offensive mistake.

Just then I hear both of them burst out laughing. “Oh man,” he gasps, “Daria, when it comes to sarcasm, you have to realize, that I am the master of deception.” Their uncontrollable chuckles fill the air, mixing with that of the surrounding tables and with my head cocked to the side I glare at him playfully before gazing once more around the restaurant. Suddenly I find myself absorbed in this sea of moving bodies, walking, talking, eating, and then somehow with mouthwatering food and Alvin’s entertaining stories, they are the ones that are still, they are the ones that are paralyzed. Alvin Tooley is handsome, generous, witty, and talented, but yes, Alvin Tooley is a quadriplegic.

“He is fantastic, you’re going to love him.” Tracey had assured me while we drove to his house. Her blonde hair had been flipped at her shoulders, her graceful hands gripping the steering wheel as we coasted through green lights. She had explained to me that the reason why they had become so close was because he had told her that she was the only one that had been able to see past the wheelchair. This is not hard though if you get to know Alvin Tooley. With his laid back attitude, good sense of humor, and constant appreciation for people in his life, the wheelchair is hardly given a second thought.

After we finish eating, we enter the crisp night in good spirits. Our shadows stretch along the parking lot as Alvin coasts alongside us to the van where once again we use a remote-control to let down the metal platform that aids him in getting in his vehicle. Returning to his house, Tracey and I stand firmly in the garage and murmur “1,2,3,” before hoisting him up by his arms and legs. We struggle to walk him slowly to his easy chair in the living room that faces the television. His body hanging limply from our grasp, I notice sudden fatigue is etched on the lines of his face as he stares blankly at the ceiling. I ponder the burden that must take a toll on his shoulders of knowing that his family and friends must do almost everything for him just to survive.

When I am sure that he is settled, I rest myself down on the couch near to him. Tracey brings the straw of his coke to his lips, and I sit quietly allowing my eyes to wander from the two dogs next to me, to the heater facing him on the hearth of the fireplace, and the special chair that takes him up to his room when he is ready to sleep. I cannot help but feel pain on his behalf, what must it be like to sit in this same room day after day, not able to do anything without the help of another? Alvin had described the accident casually over dinner: the dance club, the wrong car with the wrong driver, the turn, flying through the backdoor down to the highway below, but what emotions must he be keeping inside? How often does he crave the feeling of running through a field, diving into a refreshing pool on a summer’s day, or simply being able to bring his own food to his lips? It has only been six years since the accident and he is reaching his early thirties, still forced to live with his parents and not in control of his future or his life. The clock strikes eleven suddenly and I still remain silent on the couch, lost in my own thoughts of what it must be like to have no feeling…

Rubbing my eyes with a sudden yawn, I force myself back into reality. Hardly able to believe it is now 2:30, I pick up another packet almost in a daze, this particular article being from the Wall Street Journal from Friday, July 13, 2001. Setting my glasses back on the bridge of my nose, I start to pour over the words hungrily, reflecting upon what I have learned thus far.

After listening to Alvin describe the prospects of his healing through scientific means a few hours ago, my eyes had widened
considerably. How had I not known such a possibility was in his grasp? As I listened attentively to his frustration over Bush’s efforts to destroy his only hopes, Tracey suddenly suggested that I write an article on Alvin and on stem cell research. It was only moments until his mother was woken up to bring down the huge file folder of articles their family had collected over the years on the subject and my mission had begun.

Alvin Tooley’s only chance to walk again in this life is something that seems controversial to not only Congress but also society. To many, the panic of scientists being able to produce humans on command is enough to eagerly support the House’s bill which has been passed to ban all human cloning. What millions of people might not know however, is that therapeutic cloning has the potential to cure our world’s most horrendous injuries and ailments including Parkinson’s disease, Alzheimer’s disease, stroke, burns, heart disease, diabetes, osteoarthritis, rheumatoid arthritis, cancer, birth defects, and of course spinal cord injury-- meaning that Alvin Tooley could walk and use his hands again.

Scientific research on therapeutic cloning has already made leaps and bounds, that is before the House made the decision to ban it. So far scientists have discovered that by removing the nucleus and DNA from a female egg and obtaining a patient’s skin or other cell, the egg can be cloned and the cell can be injected into it giving it new DNA. After about five days, an embryo grows to produce about 100 cells inside of it. These cells are pluripotent, meaning that they can become many types of cells but not all of the types necessary to grow a fetus. Which means in theory these cells can grow to form various tissues from heart and spinal to pancreatic.

The primary concern for both reproductive and therapeutic cloning is that scientists can use that cloned egg to make a baby. While the outer layer of cells forming the embryo are totipotent and can produce a fetus, the embryo must be injected into a woman’s womb in order to accomplish this, quite possibly resulting in miscarriage or birth defects.
While the moral question of when life is actually present inside a woman is still debated, scientists are working on a project that deals with using a somatic cell process which does not require a fetus, meaning that the issue of abortion does not become a factor in the experiment.

The fact of the matter is, banning all cloning research is not the answer. Experimentation should be regulated instead. A noted senator suggests that the embryos could be allowed to grow for only 14 days after cell division starts. There are ways to make sure that babies are not cloned without writing off any other possible scientific health breakthroughs.
In the case of Alvin, his possibility of healing is not so out of reach. Recently a team of researchers at Johns Hopkins University was able to produce neurons that were injected into mice with broken spinal cords. The spinal cord was restored and the mice were able to walk again. All Alvin needs is one inch of his spine to be fixed and that will enable its own nerve impulses to go from his brain to his muscles. His future and countless others are in our hands.

With newfound hope for Alvin in my soul, I grab a piece of notebook paper and begin to jot down notes from everything stirring in my mind. What I have just learned in the past few hours both amazes and excites me and I have no greater wish than to share that wealth of knowledge with the rest of society. The minutes pass by as I write furiously, and as I hear the moths still dancing near the window, I promise Alvin Tooley softly in the shadows that one day he too will be free.