The Curious Journey from Heart Transplants to Pig Lungs

Today, while cruising my Facebook feed, I encountered a truly incredible story. Science ran with the provocative title “In a first, pig lung survives and functions—briefly—in a person.” This covered the most recent study from Nature Medicine by the surgeon Jianxing He and his colleagues. The patient, was 39 year old male who had suffered an intracranial hemorrhage which had resulted in brain death.

In short, a genetically engineered pig lung, designed to survive in humans, was transplanted into this brain-dead patient. Instead of dying in hours these genetic modifications allowed the patient to stay alive with functioning lungs for 9 days. The patient was seen to be delivering oxygen and clearing CO₂. Eventually, after a problematic immune response, the lungs were removed for further study. The man was ultimately taken off life support in accordance with his families wishes.

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Et tu Brute? Stories of betrayal and why you shouldn’t lose sleep over them.

I can remember the first time I felt deeply betrayed.  It wasn’t by a friend or a family member, but instead by a toy company.  The early 1990s  was a heady time for me.  I was fully immersed in the cartoon masterpiece that was the Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles (TMNT).  I have not bothered to rewatch this show for fear that I would not currently share the opinions of my 5-year old self.  Being a prepubescent boy living in the suburbs of New Jersey, I considered this high art.  In a bid to further monetize the show, Playmates Toys released a line of TMNT action figures and accessories, which they advertised relentlessly on television at the time.  My obsession for the summer of 1990 became the “Mutant Module.”  Commercials showed a massive drill bit smashing through a nondescript countertop to break into a supposed gold vault.  In rewatching this tv spot, I’m not exactly clear on why I figured this thing could actually drill through table tops.  Nor am I certain about why I would want to destroy the various surfaces in my home, but at the time this seemed like a really desirable activity.  I was deeply disappointed to open the box though and find a collection of plastic and stickers, which wouldn’t drill through a paper bag let alone a countertop.

I further lost faith in corporate America when I begged my parents, for a straight month, to buy me a pair of sneakers known as LA lights.  It was my desire to “own the night,” as the ad campaign used to say.  I felt like every kid in third grade had them and I needed shoes that spit red hot LED fire, Continue reading