The U.S. population is becoming more diverse, but clinical trials don't reflect that, experts say. Some are focusing on recruiting minorities to participate in research.
Nestled in a predominately Hispanic neighborhood, a new mural outside Guadalupe Centers Middle School in Kansas City, Missouri imparts a powerful message: “Clinical Research Needs Representation.” The colorful portraits painted above those words feature four cancer survivors of different racial and ethnic backgrounds. Two individuals identify as Hispanic, one as African American and another as Native American.
One of the patients depicted in the mural is Kim Jones, a 51-year-old African American breast cancer survivor since 2012. She advocated for an African American friend who participated in several clinical trials for ovarian cancer. Her friend was diagnosed in an advanced stage at age 26 but lived nine more years, thanks to the trials testing new therapeutics. “They are definitely giving people a longer, extended life and a better quality of life,” said Jones, who owns a nail salon. And that’s the message the mural aims to send to the community: Clinical trials need diverse participants.
While racial and ethnic minority groups represent almost half of the U.S. population, the lack of diversity in clinical trials poses serious challenges. Limited awareness and access impede equitable representation, which is necessary to prove the safety and effectiveness of medical interventions across different groups.
A Yale University study on clinical trial diversity published last year in BMJ Medicine found that while 81 percent of trials testing the new cancer drugs approved by the U.S. Food and Drug Administration between 2012 and 2017 included women, only 23 percent included older adults and 5 percent fairly included racial and ethnic minorities. “It’s both a public health and social justice issue,” said Jennifer E. Miller, an associate professor of medicine at Yale School of Medicine. “We need to know how medicines and vaccines work for all clinically distinct groups, not just healthy young White males.” A recent JAMA Oncology editorial stresses out the need for legislation that would require diversity action plans for certain types of trials.
Ensuring meaningful representation of racial and ethnic minorities in clinical trials for regulated medical products is fundamental to public health.--FDA Commissioner Robert M. Califf.
But change is on the horizon. Last April, the FDA issued a new draft guidance encouraging industry to find ways to revamp recruitment into clinical trials. The announcement, which expanded on previous efforts, called for including more participants from underrepresented racial and ethnic segments of the population.
“The U.S. population has become increasingly diverse, and ensuring meaningful representation of racial and ethnic minorities in clinical trials for regulated medical products is fundamental to public health,” FDA commissioner Robert M. Califf, a physician, said in a statement. “Going forward, achieving greater diversity will be a key focus throughout the FDA to facilitate the development of better treatments and better ways to fight diseases that often disproportionately impact diverse communities. This guidance also further demonstrates how we support the Administration’s Cancer Moonshot goal of addressing inequities in cancer care, helping to ensure that every community in America has access to cutting-edge cancer diagnostics, therapeutics and clinical trials.”
Lola Fashoyin-Aje, associate director for Science and Policy to Address Disparities in the Oncology Center of Excellence at the FDA, said that the agency “has long held the view that clinical trial participants should reflect the clinical and demographic characteristics of the patients who will ultimately receive the drug once approved.” However, “numerous studies over many decades” have measured the extent of underrepresentation. One FDA analysis found that the proportion of White patients enrolled in U.S. clinical trials (88 percent) is much higher than their numbers in country's population. Meanwhile, the enrollment of African American and Native Hawaiian/American Indian and Alaskan Native patients is below their national numbers.
The FDA’s guidance is accelerating researchers’ efforts to be more inclusive of diverse groups in clinical trials, said Joyce Sackey, a clinical professor of medicine and associate dean at Stanford School of Medicine. Underrepresentation is “a huge issue,” she noted. Sackey is focusing on this in her role as the inaugural chief equity, diversity and inclusion officer at Stanford Medicine, which encompasses the medical school and two hospitals.
Until the early 1990s, Sackey pointed out, clinical trials were based on research that mainly included men, as investigators were concerned that women could become pregnant, which would affect the results. This has led to some unfortunate consequences, such as indications and dosages for drugs that cause more side effects in women due to biological differences. “We’ve made some progress in including women, but we have a long way to go in including people of different ethnic and racial groups,” she said.
A new mural outside Guadalupe Centers Middle School in Kansas City, Missouri, advocates for increasing diversity in clinical trials. Kim Jones, 51-year-old African American breast cancer survivor, is second on the left.
Artwork by Vania Soto. Photo by Megan Peters.
Among racial and ethnic minorities, distrust of clinical trials is deeply rooted in a history of medical racism. A prime example is the Tuskegee Study, a syphilis research experiment that started in 1932 and spanned 40 years, involving hundreds of Black men with low incomes without their informed consent. They were lured with inducements of free meals, health care and burial stipends to participate in the study undertaken by the U.S. Public Health Service and the Tuskegee Institute in Alabama.
By 1947, scientists had figured out that they could provide penicillin to help patients with syphilis, but leaders of the Tuskegee research failed to offer penicillin to their participants throughout the rest of the study, which lasted until 1972.
Opeyemi Olabisi, an assistant professor of medicine at Duke University Medical Center, aims to increase the participation of African Americans in clinical research. As a nephrologist and researcher, he is the principal investigator of a clinical trial focusing on the high rate of kidney disease fueled by two genetic variants of the apolipoprotein L1 (APOL1) gene in people of recent African ancestry. Individuals of this background are four times more likely to develop kidney failure than European Americans, with these two variants accounting for much of the excess risk, Olabisi noted.
The trial is part of an initiative, CARE and JUSTICE for APOL1-Mediated Kidney Disease, through which Olabisi hopes to diversify study participants. “We seek ways to engage African Americans by meeting folks in the community, providing accessible information and addressing structural hindrances that prevent them from participating in clinical trials,” Olabisi said. The researchers go to churches and community organizations to enroll people who do not visit academic medical centers, which typically lead clinical trials. Since last fall, the initiative has screened more than 250 African Americans in North Carolina for the genetic variants, he said.
Other key efforts are underway. “Breaking down barriers, including addressing access, awareness, discrimination and racism, and workforce diversity, are pivotal to increasing clinical trial participation in racial and ethnic minority groups,” said Joshua J. Joseph, assistant professor of medicine at the Ohio State University Wexner Medical Center. Along with the university’s colleges of medicine and nursing, researchers at the medical center partnered with the African American Male Wellness Agency, Genentech and Pfizer to host webinars soliciting solutions from almost 450 community members, civic representatives, health care providers, government organizations and biotechnology professionals in 25 states and five countries.
Their findings, published in February in the journal PLOS One, suggested that including incentives or compensation as part of the research budget at the institutional level may help resolve some issues that hinder racial and ethnic minorities from participating in clinical trials. Compared to other groups, more Blacks and Hispanics have jobs in service, production and transportation, the authors note. It can be difficult to get paid leave in these sectors, so employees often can’t join clinical trials during regular business hours. If more leaders of trials offer money for participating, that could make a difference.
Obstacles include geographic access, language and other communications issues, limited awareness of research options, cost and lack of trust.
Christopher Corsico, senior vice president of development at GSK, formerly GlaxoSmithKline, said the pharmaceutical company conducted a 17-year retrospective study on U.S. clinical trial diversity. “We are using epidemiology and patients most impacted by a particular disease as the foundation for all our enrollment guidance, including study diversity plans,” Corsico said. “We are also sharing our results and ideas across the pharmaceutical industry.”
Judy Sewards, vice president and head of clinical trial experience at Pfizer’s headquarters in New York, said the company has committed to achieving racially and ethnically diverse participation at or above U.S. census or disease prevalence levels (as appropriate) in all trials. “Today, barriers to clinical trial participation persist,” Sewards said. She noted that these obstacles include geographic access, language and other communications issues, limited awareness of research options, cost and lack of trust. “Addressing these challenges takes a village. All stakeholders must come together and work collaboratively to increase diversity in clinical trials.”
It takes a village indeed. Hope Krebill, executive director of the Masonic Cancer Alliance, the outreach network of the University of Kansas Cancer Center in Kansas City, which commissioned the mural, understood that well. So her team actively worked with their metaphorical “village.” “We partnered with the community to understand their concerns, knowledge and attitudes toward clinical trials and research,” said Krebill. “With that information, we created a clinical trials video and a social media campaign, and finally, the mural to encourage people to consider clinical trials as an option for care.”
Besides its encouraging imagery, the mural will also be informational. It will include a QR code that viewers can scan to find relevant clinical trials in their location, said Vania Soto, a Mexican artist who completed the rendition in late February. “I’m so honored to paint people that are survivors and are living proof that clinical trials worked for them,” she said.
Jones, the cancer survivor depicted in the mural, hopes the image will prompt people to feel more open to partaking in clinical trials. “Hopefully, it will encourage people to inquire about what they can do — how they can participate,” she said.
A recent study by researchers at the University of Pennsylvania examined how CAR-T therapy helped Doug Olson beat a cancer death sentence for over a decade - and how it could work for more people.
Soon afterward, however, his doctor revealed a possible escape route. He and some colleagues at the University of Pennsylvania’s Abramson Cancer Center were starting a clinical trial, he said, and Olson—still mostly symptom-free—might be a good candidate. The experimental treatment, known as CAR-T therapy, would use genetic engineering to turn his T lymphocytes (immune cells that guard against viruses and other pathogens) into a weapon against cancer.
In September 2010, technicians took some of Olson’s T cells to a laboratory, where they were programmed with new molecular marching orders and coaxed to multiply into an army of millions. When they were ready, a nurse inserted a catheter into his neck. At the turn of a valve, his soldiers returned home, ready to do battle.
“I felt like I’d won the lottery,” Olson says. But he was only the second person in the world to receive this “living drug,” as the University of Pennsylvania investigators called it. No one knew how long his remission would last.
Three weeks later, Olson was slammed with a 102-degree fever, nausea, and chills. The treatment had triggered two dangerous complications: cytokine release syndrome, in which immune chemicals inflame the patient’s tissues, and tumor lysis syndrome, in which toxins from dying cancer cells overwhelm the kidneys. But the crisis passed quickly, and the CAR-T cells fought on. A month after the infusion, the doctor delivered astounding news: “We can’t find any cancer in your body.”
“I felt like I’d won the lottery,” Olson says. But he was only the second person in the world to receive this “living drug,” as the University of Pennsylvania investigators called it. No one knew how long his remission would last.
An Unexpected Cure
In February 2022, the same cancer researchers reported a remarkable milestone: the trial’s first two patients had survived for more than a decade. Although Olson’s predecessor—a retired corrections officer named Bill Ludwig—died of COVID-19 complications in early 2021, both men had remained cancer-free. And the modified immune cells continued to patrol their territory, ready to kill suspected tumor cells the moment they arose.
“We can now conclude that CAR-T cells can actually cure patients with leukemia,” University of Pennsylvania immunologist Carl June, who spearheaded the development of the technique, told reporters. “We thought the cells would be gone in a month or two. The fact that they’ve survived 10 years is a major surprise.”
Even before the announcement, it was clear that CAR-T therapy could win a lasting reprieve for many patients with cancers that were once a death sentence. Since the Food and Drug Administration approved June’s version (marketed as Kymriah) in 2017, the agency has greenlighted five more such treatments for various types of leukemia, lymphoma, and myeloma. “Every single day, I take care of patients who would previously have been told they had no options,” says Rayne Rouce, a pediatric hematologist/oncologist at Texas Children’s Cancer Center. “Now we not only have a treatment option for those patients, but one that could potentially be the last therapy for their cancer that they’ll ever have to receive.”
Immunologist Carl June, middle, spearheaded development of the CAR-T therapy that gave patients Bill Ludwig, left, and Doug Olson, right, a lengthy reprieve on their terminal cancer diagnoses.
Penn Medicine
Yet the CAR-T approach doesn’t help everyone. So far, it has only shown success for blood cancers—and for those, the overall remission rate is 30 to 40 percent. “When it works, it works extraordinarily well,” says Olson’s former doctor, David Porter, director of Penn’s blood and bone marrow transplant program. “It’s important to know why it works, but it’s equally important to know why it doesn’t—and how we can fix that.”
The team’s study, published in the journal Nature, offers a wealth of data on what worked for these two patients. It may also hold clues for how to make the therapy effective for more people.
Building a Better T Cell
Carl June didn’t set out to cure cancer, but his serendipitous career path—and a personal tragedy—helped him achieve insights that had eluded other researchers. In 1971, hoping to avoid combat in Vietnam, he applied to the U.S. Naval Academy in Annapolis, Maryland. June showed a knack for biology, so the Navy sent him on to Baylor College of Medicine. He fell in love with immunology during a fellowship researching malaria vaccines in Switzerland. Later, the Navy deployed him to the Fred Hutchinson Cancer Research Center in Seattle to study bone marrow transplantation.
There, June became part of the first research team to learn how to culture T cells efficiently in a lab. After moving on to the National Naval Medical Center in the ’80s, he used that knowledge to combat the newly emerging AIDS epidemic. HIV, the virus that causes the disease, invades T cells and eventually destroys them. June and his post-doc Bruce Levine developed a method to restore patients’ depleted cell populations, using tiny magnetic beads to deliver growth-stimulating proteins. Infused into the body, the new T cells effectively boosted immune function.
In 1999, after leaving the Navy, June joined the University of Pennsylvania. His wife, who’d been diagnosed with ovarian cancer, died two years later, leaving three young children. “I had not known what it was like to be on the other side of the bed,” he recalls. Watching her suffer through grueling but futile chemotherapy, followed by an unsuccessful bone-marrow transplant, he resolved to focus on finding better cancer treatments. He started with leukemia—a family of diseases in which mutant white blood cells proliferate in the marrow.
Cancer is highly skilled at slipping through the immune system’s defenses. T cells, for example, detect pathogens by latching onto them with receptors designed to recognize foreign proteins. Leukemia cells evade detection, in part, by masquerading as normal white blood cells—that is, as part of the immune system itself.
June planned to use a viral vector no one had tried before: HIV.
To June, chimeric antigen receptor (CAR) T cells looked like a promising tool for unmasking and destroying the impostors. Developed in the early ’90s, these cells could be programmed to identify a target protein, and to kill any pathogen that displayed it. To do the programming, you spliced together snippets of DNA and inserted them into a disabled virus. Next, you removed some of the patient’s T cells and infected them with the virus, which genetically hijacked its new hosts—instructing them to find and slay the patient’s particular type of cancer cells. When the T cells multiplied, their descendants carried the new genetic code. You then infused those modified cells into the patient, where they went to war against their designated enemy.
Or that’s what happened in theory. Many scientists had tried to develop therapies using CAR-T cells, but none had succeeded. Although the technique worked in lab animals, the cells either died out or lost their potency in humans.
But June had the advantage of his years nurturing T cells for AIDS patients, as well as the technology he’d developed with Levine (who’d followed him to Penn with other team members). He also planned to use a viral vector no one had tried before: HIV, which had evolved to thrive in human T cells and could be altered to avoid causing disease. By the summer of 2010, he was ready to test CAR-T therapy against chronic lymphocytic leukemia (CLL), the most common form of the disease in adults.
Three patients signed up for the trial, including Doug Olson and Bill Ludwig. A portion of each man’s T cells were reprogrammed to detect a protein found only on B lymphocytes, the type of white blood cells affected by CLL. Their genetic instructions ordered them to destroy any cell carrying the protein, known as CD19, and to multiply whenever they encountered one. This meant the patients would forfeit all their B cells, not just cancerous ones—but regular injections of gamma globulins (a cocktail of antibodies) would make up for the loss.
After being infused with the CAR-T cells, all three men suffered high fevers and potentially life-threatening inflammation, but all pulled through without lasting damage. The third patient experienced a partial remission and survived for eight months. Olson and Ludwig were cured.
Learning What Works
Since those first infusions, researchers have developed reliable ways to prevent or treat the side effects of CAR-T therapy, greatly reducing its risks. They’ve also been experimenting with combination therapies—pairing CAR-T with chemo, cancer vaccines, and immunotherapy drugs called checkpoint inhibitors—to improve its success rate. But CAR-T cells are still ineffective for at least 60 percent of blood cancer patients. And they remain in the experimental stage for solid tumors (including pancreatic cancer, mesothelioma, and glioblastoma), whose greater complexity make them harder to attack.
The new Nature study offers clues that could fuel further advances. The Penn team “profiled these cells at a level where we can almost say, ‘These are the characteristics that a T cell would need to survive 10 years,’” says Rouce, the physician at Texas Children’s Cancer Center.
One surprising finding involves how CAR-T cells change in the body over time. At first, those that Olson and Ludwig received showed the hallmarks of “killer” T-cells (also known as CD8 cells)—highly active lymphocytes bent on exterminating every tumor cell in sight. After several months, however, the population shifted toward “helper” T-cells (or CD4s), which aid in forming long-term immune memory but are normally incapable of direct aggression. Over the years, the numbers swung back and forth, until only helper cells remained. Those cells showed markers suggesting they were too exhausted to function—but in the lab, they were able not only to recognize but to destroy cancer cells.
June and his team suspect that those tired-looking helper cells had enough oomph to kill off any B cells Olson and Ludwig made, keeping the pair’s cancers permanently at bay. If so, that could prompt new approaches to selecting cells for CAR-T therapy. Maybe starting with a mix of cell types—not only CD8s, but CD4s and other varieties—would work better than using CD8s alone. Or perhaps inducing changes in cell populations at different times would help.
Another potential avenue for improvement is starting with healthier cells. Evidence from this and other trials hints that patients whose T cells are more robust to begin with respond better when their cells are used in CAR-T therapy. The Penn team recently completed a clinical trial in which CLL patients were treated with ibrutinib—a drug that enhances T-cell function—before their CAR-T cells were manufactured. The response rate, says David Porter, was “very high,” with most patients remaining cancer-free a year after being infused with the souped-up cells.
Such approaches, he adds, are essential to achieving the next phase in CAR-T therapy: “Getting it to work not just in more people, but in everybody.”
Doug Olson enjoys nature - and having a future.
Penn Medicine
To grasp what that could mean, it helps to talk with Doug Olson, who’s now 75. In the years since his infusion, he has watched his four children forge careers, and his grandkids reach their teens. He has built a business and enjoyed the rewards of semi-retirement. He’s done volunteer and advocacy work for cancer patients, run half-marathons, sailed the Caribbean, and ridden his bike along the sun-dappled roads of Silicon Valley, his current home.
And in his spare moments, he has just sat there feeling grateful. “You don’t really appreciate the effect of having a lethal disease until it’s not there anymore,” he says. “The world looks different when you have a future.”
This article was first published on Leaps.org on March 24, 2022.
Ordinary people are living better with chronic conditions thanks to a recent explosion of developments in medical implants.
The demand for transplantable organs dwarfs their availability. There are currently over 100,000 people on the transplant waiting list in the U.S., compared to 40,000 transplants completed in 2021. But even this doesn’t reflect the number of people in dire straits who don’t qualify for a transplant because of things like frailty, smoking status and their low odds of surviving the surgery.
My journey to becoming a cyborg came about because of a lifelong medical condition characterized by pathologically low motility of the digestive system, called gastroparesis. Ever since I was in my teens, I’ve had chronic problems with severe nausea. Flareups can be totally incapacitating and last anywhere from hours to months, interspersed with periods of relief. The cycle is totally unpredictable, and for decades my condition went both un- and misdiagnosed by doctors who were not even aware that the condition existed. Over the years I was labeled with whatever fashionable but totally inappropriate medical label existed at the time, and not infrequently, hypochondria.
Living with the gastric pacer is easy. In fact, most of the time, I don’t even know it’s there.
One of the biggest turning points in my life came when a surgeon at the George Washington University Hospital, Dr. Frederick Brody, ordered a gastric emptying test that revealed gastroparesis. This was in 2009, and an implantable device, called a gastric pacer, had been approved by the FDA for compassionate use, meaning that no other treatments were available. The small device is like a pacemaker that’s implanted beneath the skin of the abdomen and is attached to the stomach through electrodes that carry electrical pulses that stimulate the stomach, making it contract as it’s supposed to.
Dr. Brody implanted the electrical wires and the device, and, once my stomach started to respond to the pulses, I got the most significant nausea relief I’d had in decades of futile treatments. It sounds cliché to say that my debt to Dr. Brody is immeasurable, but the pacer has given me more years of relative normalcy than I previously could have dreamed of.
I should emphasize that the pacer is not a cure. I still take a lot of medicine and have to maintain a soft, primarily vegetarian diet, and the condition has progressed with age. I have ups and downs, and can still have periods of severe illness, but there’s no doubt I would be far worse off without the electrical stimulation provided by the pacer.
Living with the gastric pacer is easy. In fact, most of the time, I don’t even know it’s there. It entails periodic visits with a surgeon who can adjust the strength of the electrical pulses using a wireless device, so when symptoms are worse, he or she can amp up the juice. If the pulses are too strong, they can cause annoying contractions in the abdominal muscles, but this is easily fixed with a simple wireless adjustment. The battery runs down after a few years, and when this happens the whole device has to be replaced in what is considered minor surgery.
Such devices could fill gaps in treating other organ failures. By far most of the people on transplant waiting lists are waiting for kidneys. Despite the fact that live donations are possible, there’s still a dire shortage of organs. A bright spot on the horizon is The Kidney Project, a program spearheaded by bioengineer Shuvo Roy at the University of California, San Francisco, which is developing a fully implantable artificial kidney. The device combines living cells with artificial materials and relies not on a battery, but on the patient’s own blood pressure to keep it functioning.
Several years into this project, a prototype of the kidney, about the size of a smart phone, has been successfully tested in pigs. The device seems to provide many of the functions of a biological kidney (unlike dialysis, which replaces only one main function) and reliably produces urine. One of its most critical components is a special artificial membrane, called a hemofilter, that filters out toxins and waste products from the blood without leaking important molecules like albumin. Since it allows for total mobility, the artificial kidney will provide patients with a higher quality of life than those on dialysis, and is in some important ways, even better than a biological transplant.
The beauty of the device is that, even though it contains kidney cells sourced, as of now, from cadavers or pigs, the cells are treated so that they can’t be rejected and the device doesn’t require the highly problematic immunosuppressant drugs a biological organ requires. “Anti-rejection drugs,” says Roy, “make you susceptible to all kinds of infections and damage the transplanted organ, causing steady deterioration. Eventually they kill the kidney. A biological transplant has about a 10-year limit,” after which the kidney fails and the body rejects it.
Eventually, says Roy, the cells used in the artificial kidney will be sourced from the patient himself, the ultimate genetic match. The patient’s adult stem cells can be used to produce some or all of the 25 to 30 specialized cells of a biological kidney that provide all the functions of a natural organ. People formerly on dialysis could drastically improve their functionality and quality of life without being tethered to a machine for hours at a time, three days a week.
As exciting as this project is, it suffers from a common theme in early biomedical research—keeping a steady stream of funding that will move the project from the lab, into human clinical trials and eventually to the bedside. “It’s the issue,” says Roy. “Potential investors want to see more data indicating that it works, but you need funding to create data. It’s a Catch-22 that puts you in a kind of no-man’s land of funding.” The constant pursuit of funding introduces a variable that makes it hard to predict when the kidney will make it to market, despite the enormous need for such a technology.
Another critical variable is if and when insurance companies will decide to cover transplants with the artificial kidney, so that it becomes affordable for the average person. But Roy thinks that this hurdle, too, will be crossed. Insurance companies stand to save a great deal of money compared to what they ordinarily spend on transplant patients. The cost of yearly maintenance will be a fraction of that associated with the tens of thousands of dollars for immunosuppressant drugs and the attendant complications associated with a biological transplant.
One estimate that the multidisciplinary team of researchers involved with The Kidney Project are still trying to establish is how long the artificial kidney will last once transplanted into the body. Animal trials so far have been looking at how the kidney works for 30 days, and will soon extend that study to 90 days. Additional studies will extend much farther into the future, but first the kidneys have to be implanted into people who can be followed over many years to answer this question. But unlike the gastric pacer and other implants, there won’t be a need for periodic surgeries to replace a depleted battery, and the stark improvements in quality of life compared to dialysis add a special dimension to the value of whatever time the kidney lasts.
Another life-saving implant could address a major scourge of the modern world—heart disease. Despite significant advances in recent decades, including the cardiac implants mentioned above, cardiovascular disease still causes one in three deaths across the world. One of the most promising developments in recent years is the Total Artificial Heart, a pneumatically driven device that can be used in patients with biventricular heart failure, affecting both sides of the heart, when a biological organ is not available.
The TAH is implanted in the chest cavity and has two tubes that snake down the body, come out through the abdomen and attach to a 13.5-pound external driver that the patient carries around in a backpack. It was first developed as a bridge to transplant, a temporary alternative while the patient waited for a biological heart to replace it. However, SynCardia Systems, LLC, the Tucson-based company that makes it, is now investigating whether the heart can be used on a long-term basis.
There’s good reason to think that this will be the case. I spoke with Daniel Teo, one of the board members of SynCardia, who said that so far, one patient lived with the TAH for six years and nine months, before he died of other causes. Another patient, still alive, has lived with the device for over five years and another one has lived with it for over four years. About 2,000 of these transplants have been done in patients waiting for biological hearts so far, and most have lived mobile, even active lives. One TAH recipient hiked for 600 miles, and another ran the 4.2-mile Pat Tillman Run, both while on the artificial heart. This is a far cry from their activities before surgery, while living with advanced heart failure.
Randy Shepard, a recipient of the Total Artificial Heart, teaches archery to his son.
Randy Shepard
If removing and replacing one’s biological heart with a synthetic device sounds scary, it is. But then so is replacing one’s heart with biological one. “The TAH is very emotionally loaded for most people,” says Teo. “People sometimes hold back because of philosophical, existential questions and other nonmedical reasons.” He also cites cultural reasons why some people could be hesitant to accept an artificial heart, saying that some religions could frown upon it, just as they forbid other medical interventions.
The first TAHs that were approved were 70 cubic centimeters in size and fit into the chest cavities of men and larger women, but there’s now a smaller, 50 cc size meant for women and adolescents. The FDA first cleared the 70 cc heart as a bridge to transplant in 2004, and the 50 cc model received approval in 2014. SynCardia’s focus now is on seeking FDA approval to use the heart on a long-term basis. There are other improvements in the works.
One issue being refined deals with the external driver that holds the pneumatic device for moving the blood through a patient’s body. The two tubes connecting the driver to the heart entail openings in the skin that could get infected, and carrying the backpack is less than ideal. The driver also makes an audible sound that some people find disturbing. The next generation TAH will be quieter and involve wearing a smaller, lighter device on a belt rather than carrying the backpack. SynCardia is also working toward a fully implantable heart that wouldn’t require any external components and would contain an energy source that can be recharged wirelessly.
Teo says the jury is out as to whether artificial hearts will ever obviate the need for biological organs, but the world’s number one killer isn’t going away any time soon. “The heart is one of the strongest organs,” he says, “but it’s not made to last forever. If you live long enough, the heart will eventually fail, and heart failure leads to the failure of other organs like the kidney, the lungs and the liver.” As long as this remains the case and as long as the current direction of research continues, artificial organs are likely to play an ever larger part of our everyday lives.
Oh, wait. Maybe we cyborgs will take over the world after all.