Hope, Recovery and Ingratitude

Superb medical news out of Louisville:

It strikes thousands of African Americans every year, clogging blood vessels with sickle-shaped cells — causing strokes, blindness and excruciating pain as it damages the heart, liver, lungs and kidneys.

Half of its victims die by age 40.

But University of Louisville researchers are testing a revolutionary cure for sickle cell disease, giving hope to a new generation of families that carry the potentially fatal gene.

Amos Igwe, 13, believes the procedure has given him a future.

Before getting a bone-marrow transplant from his sister in 2006 as part of the experiment, Amos was often so sick that he had trouble breathing and could barely leave the living room couch.

Today he plays quarterback on a football team at St. Albert the Great, where he's an eighth-grader, is preparing to go to Trinity High School next year and hopes to one day become a dentist or heart surgeon.

Read the whole package.

Here's the ingratitude:

“We are grateful to God,” said his father, Tony Igwe of eastern Louisville. “It's really a miracle.”

Shame on you, Mr. Igwe. Your mythical sky wizard had nothing to do with it. If you had really thought "god" practiced medicine, you would have sat beside your son, praying nonstop while he died slowly in excruciating pain.

But instead of putting your son's life where your ludicrous superstition is, you let human, reality-based medical science treat your son, then gave the credit to a Bronze Age desert fantasy.

For shame.