In the Fall of 2000, Denver’s Lisa and Jack Nash genetically engineered a baby in an effort to save their dying little girl. Pastors and pundits said it was the first step down a stem-cell-paved road to Hell. Five years later, the Nashes give us an exclusive look at Heaven.
Lisa turned into the parking lot of the Target store as if she were driving a NASCAR race. Molly, exhausted from the transfusion, was in the backseat underneath winter layers—scarf, woolen cap, and green surgical mask. The mask was necessary to protect Molly from inhaling common germs that were potentially fatal for her.
Lisa jerked her Suburban into the first open spot she found. She was halfway out the door before she cut the engine. Seizing Molly's 5-year-old hand, she marched into the madness: Christmas carols on repeat, blinking lights, too many last-minute shoppers. Dodging the mobs with teetering carts, Lisa bought five boxes of e.p.t. pregnancy tests and ran to the restroom.
Still wrapped in the scarf and hat, Molly leaned against the bathroom wall sucking air through the surgical mask. In the next stall, Lisa ripped open the e.p.t. boxes. Hands shaking, she fanned out five white sticks and followed the directions. "Mol, you OK?" Lisa called. One, two, three, four, five.... They all had blue plus signs. My God, Lisa thought, I'm pregnant; they weren't lying. She burst from the stall, gathered Molly in her arms, and dialed Jack on the cell phone.