From: kqb@cbnewsl.cb.att.com (kevin.q.brown)
Subject: Quintessence: Mrs. White's Suspension
Organization: AT&T Bell Laboratories
Date: Fri, 2 Oct 1992 22:34:34 GMT
X-Crossposted-To: cryonics mailing list

    ------------------------ Forwarded Message ------------------------

> Message-Subject: CRYONICS Quintessence: Jerry White's Account of his Mother's Suspension 1/3
> From: edgar@spectrx.Saigon.COM (Edgar W. Swank)
> Date: Fri, 02 Oct 92 07:27:38 PDT

[Reprinted from the September 92 Immortalist]
by Jerry White
 
 
Background
 
Some time before the first neuro ("cephalo-cryonic"?)  patient and the
first brain ("encephalo-cryonic"?)  suspension (July 16 and October 4,
respectively, of 1976), I had conceived of preservation of only the
brain (perhaps with biopsies of other tissues) as an important option,
and had circulated a memo to that effect among afew individuals.  I
was pleased when the first cephalonic suspension occurred (though I
believe my own proposal had nothingto do with that or subsequent
cases).  Thereafter, it seemed to me that cephalonic suspension was
generally satisfying the basic objectives of encephalonic suspension,
and I did not attempt to promote the latter further, except for some
spasmodic and unsuccessful attempts to persuade various friends and
relations not involved in cryonics at least to consider donating their
brains for cryonic preservation.  I proposed at the February 24, 1991
meeting of the ACS Board of Governors that ACS move deliberately
toward offering cryonic preservation of the brain as an explicit
option.  This proposal was reported in The Immortalist (March 1991)
and discussed there further (May 1991).
 
 
A Friend of the Family
 
Noel Sullivan was a great friend of our family since he and my
mother's mother Helen met as teenagers.  A pacifist Irish Catholic,
dramatic, passionate, generous, wealthy and socially prominent, Noel
bought a fleet of ambulances, and maintained and operated it on the
front in Europe during World War I (I seem to remember being told that
Hemingway based the character of his ambulance-driver protagonist in A
Farewell to Arms, though not the story, on Noel), built the Carmelite
Monastery in Carmel, California (and is interred on the premises),
performed as an accomplished concert singer and instrumentalist,
patronized and supported numerous writers and other artists, and
provided a home for scores of injured animals in Carmel Valley at his
Hollow Hills Farm, a place I recall as one of peace, joy, and beauty.
Noel himself died in 1956, but I remember him well and fondly and with
a sense of kinship which has grown with the years.  My mother
repeatedly affirmed that he was the most saintly person she had ever
known; on the back of a framed photo of him, she wrote:  "A living
example of love, compassion, and care, for all God's creatures, both
human and animal ...  he cried and he laughed--he had beauty in his
soul!!"
 
My dear friend Michele accompanied me on the weekend of Memorial Day,
1991, to visit my mother.  I had told Michele of Noel Sullivan and my
own meditating on, or to, him.  Impressed by these stories, she then
devised a mantra or invocation to be used to petition for healing.
Poetic license suggested that his name be pronounced differently from
usual.  The mantra goes:  "Noel ...  Make us whole...  Bless your
soul."  I had told my mother of the mantra, and she, Michele, and I
started in using it and some other such measures on the occasion of
our several maladies.  At the very least, we felt that doing so
instilled an extra portion of solidarity among us, and we shared the
hope of such psychic chicken soup that, It couldn't hurt!
 
 
Critical Developments
 
On December 20, 1991, my sister Soffie phoned me from her residence in
Nevada to say that our cousin Callie, a registered nurse specializing
in home and hospice care, had just called.  Callie's news was that
Soffie's and my mother, Susan, a California native of age 73,
currently residing near Callie in a semi-rural area a few hours drive
from the San Francisco Bay Area, was ill.
 
I drove the next day to visit Mother.  Soffie and Callie were there
amidst a house full of visitors.  Mother had been taken to the
hospital at 4 a.m.  suffering respiratory distress.  X-rays showed
lesions which were suspected of being malignant, and a lung biopsy had
been taken.  A brain scan also showed two lesions, which were however
believed benign meningiomas (tumors of the meningeal membrane
surrounding the brain).  The long term prognosis was poor.  However,
it was not felt that she was serious enough to be admitted, and she
returned home about noon.  I found her mobile and in feisty good
spirits, fearless at this prospect of death while resolutely opposed
to enduring extreme though useless pain, awestruck at her seeming
predicament, and angry at the circumstances which had engendered it.
Her physical condition, though, alarmed me.  Although she did not
formulate a durable power of attorney for health care, she did make it
clear to family and medical personnel that she did not want
extraordinary life support if there was no chance it would
significantly extend life.
 
With the two of us together at the table in the family area, I berated
Mother for begrudging me the signal though problematic status of my
own ailment by turning up with one even more critical.  She, in turn,
scolded me for being a rotten kid to suggest such an outrage.
 
I had to return home later that evening, but Soffie decided on
an extended stay.  Mother felt better the next morning, but
experienced
very severe back pain during the evening.  The next day she and Soffie
visited her doctor, where they learned from the biopsy results the
diagnosis of terminal lung cancer, with other tumors likely throughout
the body.  Mother made an appointment to start therapy in two weeks
from a specialist of her acquaintance situated a few hours away, the
doctor who had treated our dear friend Gerry (Geraldine), whom Mother
nursed during most of the last year or two of her life.
 
Last Project
 
Mother's and my last joint project was to commemorate the 100th
anniversary, on Christmas Day, of Noel Sullivan's birth.  For our
little celebration, I ordered a birthday cake.  Mother and I spoke on
the phone and she proposed as well sending a birthday flower
arrangement to the Carmelite Monastery.  I spoke to the Monsignor and
arranged for a Christmas birthday bouquet to be delivered.  The card
said:  "Dearest Uncle Noel ...  Make us whole ...  Bless your soul ...
love, Susan and JB."
 
I arrived at Mother's Christmas Day with the cake.  Though further
weakened, she had managed that morning to lean on the car while
watching her grandson Marcus rollerblade down the adjoining hill at
high velocity.  I arrived to find her dressed elegantly indeed and
skillfully applying tasteful but dramatic makeup, though she then
climbed back in bed and did not leave her room.  She wanted us to use
up her film, so we took numerous photos--the last stills of her in
life--including all of us with the cake.  I sliced portions for
Mother, Soffie, Marcus, and me, and also one for Noel.  Mother was
able only to taste her piece, but after a while, a bite was discovered
missing from Noel's.  All present, other than Mother's cat Liza Jane,
disavowed any knowledge of the errant bite.  I hereby reaffirm my own
ignorance and innocence regarding it.
 
When I described the disposition made of the flower project, Mother
cried, incredulous that we had managed to do such a thing, and praised
the beauty of our efforts and Noel's saintliness.  As I knelt by her
bed, she argued that given her own condition, she might as well take
mine with her.  I inquired where I might sign to finalize the deal.
 
 
Learning and Teaching
 
At that time, and more than once again during the days that remained,
and often since, I've recalled those whimsically sincere occasions
when she made the same offer, and the bitter moments when, in January
of 1989, I told Mother and Gerry of my condition.  I expressed great
regret in imparting the burden of that knowledge, but also of my need
for them, especially for Mother, then more than ever before.  It was
terrible to see the sorrow and dismay in Mother's eyes as, taking a
moment to collect herself, she retrieved some carrots from their
assigned bin, stuck them in her back pocket, and strode off to
administer them to her horse Gogie.  After a minute I followed her
down to the pasture, and there, bathed by the gaze of that furry
friend, we melted tearfully into each other's arms, affirming our love
and pledging our mutual support.
 
Many times over the years she and I had discussed the merits of my
life extension activities.  For twenty-six years it had been my hope
to persuade her to participate.  On one of these just described
visits, I discussed it one last time with her, noting that it was not
too late, to which she promised to give more thought.  Otherwise, her
stated desire was to be buried next to her brother at a local
cemetery.  Of course, she had made no advance arrangements for
suspension, and there were no funds readily available.  I shared
status as next of kin with Soffie, who was proceeding to make plans
for interment according to Mother's wishes.  These factors seriously
limited if not eliminated the possibilities for suspension.
 
Mother insisted that Soffie go home for a few days, which, after
arranging for live-in nursing care, she did on December 30.  Mother
also arranged for Beulah, a professional attendant in whom she had
great confidence from her recent work with an older cousin of
Mother's, to take over at the beginning of the year.  About that time,
Callie had Mother admitted to the hospital because she could not eat
and was having a lot of pain.  Mother became very discouraged but
insisted on going home.
 
When I visited again on January 4, Beulah had arrived and we got
acquainted.  Mother had strength only to sit on the side of the bed
and move around in it, her words few and fading in and out of
coherence.  She had experienced a rough night, and was still in great
discomfort from extensive itchy welts, to which medication likely
contributed.  I massaged her gently, and when I concentrated on her
legs, she murmured "lazy bones ...," to which I replied that,
especially under the circumstances, they weren't so lazy at all.  She
then expatiated further by weakly singing, "Lazy bones, sleeping in
the sun ...."  When she was resting more comfortably, I curled up next
to her, and she grasped my wrist.
 
Before returning home later that night, I talked to her doctor, who
thought that she might well survive long enough to undergo therapy,
which, because of her condition, had been delayed, and might then live
for up to a year.  Taking the opportunity to get some archival
material by filming her a bit with my video camera, I saw very clearly
in what had become her constant agony that dying was a 24-hour-a-day
job.  Soffie had noted that, had we in better days chanced to predict
the circumstances of Mother's death, this would have had to be
precisely the scenario, "a nightmare," as Soffie described it; and so
it was.
 
 
The Plan
 
It was as late as that very day and the next that I conceived what I
might be able to do.  On January 6, I drafted forms whereby I would,
as next of kin, make an anatomical donation of Mother's brain to ACS
or to an appropriate physician, and whereby Soffie would consent to
the donation.  That evening I met and conferred with colleagues Jim
Yount and John Day about what might be required to implement some form
of encephalo-cryonic suspension.  Our discussion ranged over the
proposed forms, personnel, equipment, and supplies that might be used,
the cooperation of the local mortuary, attending physician, and
lawyer; and, all important, Soffie's role.  Funds to cover expenses
incurred in all suspension operations through encapsulation in liquid
nitrogen and initial maintenance being a problem (there was no
insurance and cash was uncertain), they proposed that enough be raised
by loans until my share of the estate became available.
 
The next day I revised the forms, and that evening I phoned Soffie,
who had returned to Mother's, and proposed the plan.  Not wishing to
get involved in what might otherwise be lengthy bargaining, I reminded
her of what I would really like to have happen--our mother's
suspension--but stressed that I felt that circumstances made either of
the two conventional options out of the question.  Our conversation
continued roughly:
 
"However, there is a compromise ..."
 
"Yes?"
 
"I want to freeze her brain."
 
" ... You do?"
 
"Very much," and I then described how this new encephalic option, this
compromise between a conventional suspension and none at all, would be
very important to me and would permit our mother's body tobe interred
as she desired.  My sister very perceptively formulated to me the very
arguments I was prepared to make to her and agreed to support the
plan.  She suggested I mail the form to her in Nevada for her
signature, as she was going there the next day for a brief period.  I
immediately met and conferred again with Jim and John as well as
Carmen Brewer and Avi Ben-Abraham and at the ACS office.
 
 
The Visit
 
Rather than send Soffie the form to sign, I felt it advisable to visit
Mother's the next day with the forms and to start setting the plan in
motion, though uncertain how long I would stay or how critical the
situation really was.  Although involved in other urgent business, Jim
volunteered to accompany me.  So, early on Wednesday, January 8, I
phoned Mother's and told Soffie I would be there in a few hours, and
Jim and I did arrive late that morning.  Jim had brought about 750 ml
of Ringer's lactate and a vial of heparin as samples and a bag
resuscitator.  I immediately refrigerated the samples, and soon
started accumulating a supply of ice cubes in the freezer.
 
Mother's condition was worse still, though Jim contends that she
responded graciously on being introduced to him--as it turned out, the
last person she was to meet.  A hospital bed had been moved into her
room and a device to assist her breathing with oxygen was being used.
Soffie had visited the mortuary earlier that morning to complete
arrangements for Mother's interment, and had informed the director
that I would be stopping by soon to discuss an interesting and unusual
project.  She and I filled out the forms.  Believing that Mother would
likely survive for some days at least and with pressing obligations at
home, Soffie set out early in the afternoon on the drive to Nevada.
 
Jim and I visited the mortuary to alert the personnel there to the
anatomical donation.  They were willing to help, but concerned that
appropriate legal and medical formalities for removing the brain and
transferring its custody to the donee be adhered to.  Though having
some theoretical familiarity, they had not themselves participated in
any such case.  They initially expected problems with transportig
Mother's body to medical facilities, but it became clear that the
removal could occur on their premises.  We planned to find a local
physician or to bring in our own.  The mortuary referred us to some
pathologists whose services they had previously employed, and whose
office we visited.  However, none of the doctors was currently in
town, so we agreed to return early the next morning.  The mortuary
thought that the physician in charge of the case might be able to
order a partial autopsy, for which there could be some advantage.  We
visited his office, but he was unavailable, although an associate made
a house call during the afternoon, was apprised of the project, and
made valuable suggestions.
 
Jim returned to the Bay Area that evening to fetch from Trans Time
essential supplies and materials, which we planned to store at the
house or the mortuary so they would be readily available.  While Jim
was in transit, I conferred with Art Quaife by phone about needed
supplies for Jim to fetch and the corresponding charges.  I helped
Beulah reposition Mother, change bedding, and apply a fresh morphine
patch to her back.  The slightest motion caused Mother great distress,
and Beulah said that the bizarre gesticulation Mother displayed was in
response to extreme pain.  I filmed for a few more moments and then
prepared to spend the night tending Mother and awaiting Jim's return.

During that afternoon and evening I spent hours at Mother's bedside,
dismayed at her suffering, smoothing her hair, massaging her gently,
stroking and kissing her, and talking.  I told her that her little boy
was staying with her, and her little cat, too, was nestled on the bed.
I related her the news of the day and the goings-on there at home.  I
commemorated the love for Italy that we had both often expressed by
repeating a sort of motto of hers, "Mio core e sempre in Italia" (My
heart is always in Italy).  At this, she stirred turned and raised her
head and, though her gaze was glassy and unfocused, looked at me.  I
outlined a simple meditative technique purported to ease pain (without
attempting to affect it, simply attend to the breath), and reminded
her of it a few times during the evening; she seemed noticeably calmed
each time.  I told her of my anguish that she seemed to be leaving me
and all who loved her and all she loved, but affirmed that I was not
asking her to prolong needless agony, should it be in her power.  I
apologized should anything I say be presumptuous, attributing it to my
ignorance of what is important to one in the grip of her ordeal.  Our
often tempestuous relationship in mind, I spoke my resolve never again
to harbor a reproach against her, but always to remember and love her,
and I begged her forgiveness for all the turmoil she might justly
ascribe to me.  I thanked the God in whom I don't really believe for
the inestimable boon of Mother, and I thanked Mother for being my
mother and for being herself.  And I described in broad outline those
yet incomplete and uncertain plans, ones which envisioned that
compromise to provide each of us something meaningfully consistent
with our own values.  It seemed to me that she then began to breathe
more easily and lie more quietly.
 
A relief attendant, Patricia, arrived about an hour later, at quarter
of ten.  She and Beulah arranged the night watch, and Beulah was
finally able to retire at 10:15, after almost two days of
uninterrupted duty.  I planned to lie on Mother's bed or watch her
until Jim returned.  Five minutes later, about 10:20, with Patricia
still sorting out her supplies for the night, I stood at Mother's bed,
watching her by now quiet, shallow, steady, but infrequent breaths,
again smoothing her hair, and holding her hand,as she lay in a semi
fetal position on her right side, her left arm stretched down, her
right arm curled round her head.
 
 
Work Begins
 
Soon I noticed that she seemed not to have taken a breath for too many
seconds.  I felt a precipitous spasm of panic and despair as I watched
more closely, felt for her heartbeat, and murmured questioningly, all
the while thinking "No, no, it's too soon; I'm not ready!"  Patricia
saw this, checked too, and then crossed herself.
 
Mother's work was done.  I took her hand, bent down and kissed her,and
whispered in her ear, " I swear to you, my dearest Momma, I'm not
abandoning you; it's not over!"
 
An unrestrained wave of sobbing drenched me before I realized that,
ready or not, the time for some urgent work of my own had begun.
Patricia roused Beulah, who then, after the two of them hugged me,
phoned my sister and the mortuary.  During the fifteen or so minutes
before the mortuary personnel arrived, I prepared a pillowcase pack of
the accumulated ice cubes, arranged it around her head, and
administered CPR.  With rapt fascination, and although otherwise
declining to participate in these preparations, Patricia helped me to
level the bed, lower the railings, and grapple with the bag
resuscitator, which I greatly regretted not having previously learned
to operate.  It was hard to get anadequate seal over the face and took
too long to switch between chest compressions and respirations, so I
tossed the resuscitator aside, tilted Mother's head back into the
appropriate posture, and noting that her decades of effort and expense
to keep her teeth healthy had precipitously and unceremoniously
terminated, with some effort pried her jaws apart using my fingers,
and switched to mouth-to-mouth breathing--easier to perform and more
effective, too.  When the personnel arrived, I phoned and apprised Art
Quaife, who with Jim had about finished loading perfusion supplies.  I
took the sample Ringer's and heparin and my video camera and went to
the mortuary.
 
It was about 10:45.  Mother was already laid out on an embalming table
in the preparation room.  The director agreed to have the procedure
filmed.  An assistant got more crushed ice; I improvised bags from
plastic grocery sacks and stacked them around the head.  At my
request, the assistant got me a pair of scissors and a plastic bag; I
clipped and saved a few strands of hair.  Paul Segall phoned the
mortuary with last minute instructions on how to proceed.  The
emblamer cannulated the jugular and the carotid, mixed the heparin
into the Ringer's, and perfused the resulting solution to the head
using the embalming machine; the effluent seemed good and free of
clots.  On inquiry, the embalmer answered that the circulatory system
seemed that of a thirty-year-old.  After this brief partial perfusion,
Mother was placed in the coldroom (32-35 F) to await Jim's return.
Meanwhile, the three of us chatted in the office.  Finally, there was
a was a knock at the door at about 1:30; Jim had arrived, delayed by
fearsome and heavy Tuley fog in both directions.  He had brought
twelve liters of Ringer's and five two-liter bottles of BioTime
perfusate.  The Ringer's was used to complete the washout.  The final
effluent was clear and just faintly pink.  Then the cryoprotective
perfusate was circulated in order of increasing concentration.  Very
significant dehydration of the tissues of the head was observed,
especially on the cannulated side.  We then returned Mother to the
cold room.
 
Jim and I scraped ice from our windshields and drove back to Mother's
to spend the rest of the night.  I lay sleepless for some three hours,
arose at 6:45, showered, rousted Jim, ate, and we left for town.  On
the way, though slightly disposed to call on the physician in charge,
I was uncertain whether to do so or to seek the pathologist first.
Jim's reasoning that we try the pathologist first went:  It was all
very well to try to contact the physician yesterday, when we were
trying to arrange contingencies, but today the situation is different,
and urgent.  The main point of seeing the physician at this point
would be to try to arrange for a lower-cost autopsy, which might in
itself cause delay and complications by involving other medical
personnel or the coroner.  We know that the mortuary will cooperate,
and it seems certain the pathologist will, too, and is in fact
available; we still don't know about the physician.  We need a
pathologist anyway to do the removal--let's go for it!
 
So, our strategy conforming to Jim's perspicacious estimate of the
situation, we visited the pathology clinic, met the doctor, and had by
8:40 that morning enlisted his aid.  Not having believed things would
go this well, Jim and I had to rush back to Mother's to fetch supplies
(ice chest, ice, biopsy tubes, etc.), including a sturdy plastic
refrigerator dish which I had found in Mother's cupboard and whose
dimensions and composition I judged suitable for holdingthe brain.
 
We all converged at the mortuary by 9:00.  Mother was brought from the
cold room into the preparation room.  I signed forms authorizing the
pathologist to proceed and holding the mortuary harmless.  When I
inquired of the pathologist whether he minded my filming the
procedure, he agreed, but then paused and asked:
 
"This is your mother, right?"
 
"Yes."
 
"You're up to this?"
 
"Yes."
 
"Fine, then let's proceed," and immediately performed a gross external
inspection of the body, then opened the torso for examination, and
procured samples of muscle, bone, skin, lung, liver, and tumor from
the stomach lining and abdominal wall.  Jim placed each of these seven
samples in its own biopsy tube.  Besides the lung cancer, the
pathologist noted extreme emphysema in the pitifully black and
shriveled lungs (smokers, beware!), estimated breathing efficiency at
25%, and argued that, because of the severely weakened condition, even
had the lung cancer been detected early, because of the additional
debility resulting from it, therapy would not have been able to extend
life.  Numerous other tumors were observed in various parts of the
body, but most organs, however, such as the liver, seemed perfectly
healthy.
 
Then, across the top of the head, he incised the scalp and separated
it into two flaps, one toward the face, the other towardthe back.
With the skull exposed, he employed a circular oscillating saw to
isolate a segment-shaped portion of the skull.  He easily detached the
segment of bone, thereby exposing the brain,which he quickly excised.
It seemed in good condition, except for the presence of two tumors,
which appeared to be the benign meningiomas; one of them adhered to
the inside of the skullsegment, and he flicked it away with the
scalpel.  The perfusion had not been uniformly effective; the
hemisphere opposite the cannulation seemed to contain noticeably more
blood.
 
Jim had partially filled the plastic dish with highest-concentration
cryoprotectant to ease receipt of the brain; the pathologist placed
the brain into the dish, which Jim then topped off with cryoprotectant
and, the lid secured, placed in crushed ice.  I took a farewell glance
at Mother's body before leaving it to be prepared for burial by the
mortuary personnel.
 
Jim and I departed the mortuary and returned to Mother's home to
prepare the package for travel, by adding water to the crushed iceand
assuring that all was secure.  We spoke further with John Day, who at
my request agreed to formulate and implement a plan for intermediate
dry-ice maintenance, which he arranged to be at premises supervised by
Carmen Brewer at a location convenient to Carmen, John, Jim, and me.
Jim and I arrived there in mid-afternoon.  John had designed and was
completing a cooling and maintenance unit for this smallish package, a
cylinder seven inches in diameter and 6 3/8 inches high.  John soon
completed constructing the unit and started cooling it down.  He and I
installed a temperature probe and thermocouple by sliding the leads
into the liquid along one side of the brain and securing them with the
plastic lid.  We inserted the dish loosely into a metal pot and
transferred the resulting package into the unit, attached the
temperature probe to an electronic thermometer, finished filling the
unit with 75 pounds of dry ice, and observed the falling temperature
readings, which, after I left about 6 p.m., were monitored until they
reached -40, the thermometer's lower limit, at 9:25 that night, 23
hours after death.
 
 
Consequences
 
As I neared home, I felt pressure building, and hardly had time to get
in the door, greet my friendly but hungry cat, and hurriedly replenish
her food and water, before I erupted in an unrestrained fit of tears
and howling which lasted about an hour.  I spent the next several
hours on the phone, and around midnight watched the entire videotape
(which I hope to make available to serious and interested parties for
study).  Sleep, when once it came, was soothingly sweet--surcease, I
hope on this one occasion at least, for the just.
 
John assumed the task of replenishing dry ice.  David Crockett helped
to estimate the requirements for my package by supplying for a similar
configuration data on dry-ice consumption, which was initially about
15 pounds a day.  John improved the unit by affixing aluminum foil to
reflect heat, and subsequent consumption was about 10 pounds a day.
Meanwhile, Peter Christiansen and Hal Sternberg helped to arrange with
Trans Time a proposal for long term maintenance.
 
A few days later, I went to the maintenance site with a stainless
steel lidded stock pot, which I judged to be somewhat more effective
and protective, and precooled it to dry ice temperature.  Brief
inspection of the inner plastic dish showed the contents fully frozen,
the brain visible within through the translucent perfusate as a pale
pinkish cloud.  I transferred the plastic dish to the new metal pot
and secured the lid.
 
John and I conferred about a metal unit to contain the inner dish and
for maintenance in liquid nitrogen.  Unable to find one ready made
that he judged suitable in size and construction, John designed a
cylindrical lidded aluminum pot which he engaged a local machine shop
to produce.  I ordered a second unit, believing an extra to be useful
for promotional and other purposes--and numerous cryonics dinners and
meetings since have featured Jerry's show-and-tell with sample
equipment!  John and I picked up the complete units, which functioned
according to John's specification.  I conferred with him about a
modification and subsequently had the units so altered to secure the
lid better.  I had a commemorative plaque engraved to be affixed to
the aluminum unit.  The plaque noted Mother's name, the dates of her
first life cycle, and that I had commissioned the project.
 
On January 29, John and I met to transfer the patient to the metal
unit.  John prepared three portions of half-inch-thick foam rubber.
Two of these portions were round, one to go at the bottom of the unit,
the other at the top.  The bottom portion was somewhat smaller in
diameter than the interior of the unit.  The seven vials containing
the tissue biopsies were to be nestled horizontally into the space
between the edge of the foam and the metal wall.  The third portion of
foam rubber was rectangular and, except for the plastic lid, filled
the space between the rest of the plastic container and the inside
metal wall.
 
John sawed a slot into the edge of the metal lid to accomodate the
temperature leads and bolted the plaque to the lid, and I
hand-engraved the same inscription onto the bottom and the side.
 
The metal unit was precooled, and the following procedures were
performed while all components were inside the temporary maintenance
unit:  The bottom insulation was inserted and then the biopsy vials;
the plastic container was fitted with its sleeve of foam rubber, and
then slid into the metal unit; the top foam insulation was added; the
temperature leads were threaded through the slot; the lid was secured.
The resulting package with its interior plastic dish containing the
patient was left in the temporary maintenance unit.
 
John and I met again the next evening to transfer the patient to
liquid nitrogen.  Without removing the patient from dry ice, John
reduced along the vertical the temporary maintenance unit.  This we
transported to Trans Time facilities.  Within an hour and a quarter,
John, Art Quaife, and I had transferred the entire maintenance unit to
vapor-phase liquid-nitrogen storage.  Art and I signed papers for long
term maintenance.
 
Lessons Learned
 
Against what seemed to be insurmountable odds, the suspension
occurred.  Even with delays, the patient was perfused, though without
clinical controls and instrumentation, in the usual two phases, and
was then cooled to the temperature of dry ice within about one day
after deanimation.  It is difficult to generalize but, at least,
clearly possible under appropriate circumstances, given adequate
preparation and appropriate collaboration from noncryonics
professionals, for a minimal crew--perhaps even a single cryonics
staffer--to implement some sort of suspension.  It was possible to
observe very clearly the effect of the perfusion on the brain.
Additional protection probably occurred by direct diffusion into the
cortex by immersing the brain in the perfusate.  Of course, the entire
procedure was very invasive and thus the corresponding danger involved
needs to be carefully weighed against the benefits.  Gross inspection
of the brain did not show any damage as a result of removal.
 
 
Recommendations for Similar Cases
 
1. perfuse to both sides of the head
2. cool head constantly during perfusion
3. watch perfusion pressure, rate
4. remove brain before taking any tissue samples
5. consider better sterility for embalming pump
6. perform some surgery during perfusion (?), viz:
    startincising scalp
7. make sure no blood from the body drains into the head
    afterperfusion of the latter has begun
8. start CPR, heparin right away
9. if helpful and possible, e.g.  right after deanimation,
    placepatient in bathtub, immerse in cold water (keep it
    running anddraining), perform CPR while immersed
10. develop flexible unit to fill with ice and water, wrap
    aroundhead to keep it cool
11. consider purchase of embalming pump and other
    supplies,including extra pump to facilitate bilateral
    perfusion ifneeded
12.purchase oscillating saw, scalpels, protective visor, etc.,
    and learn to use them
 
 
What Have I Done?
 
Some years ago, I commented to a prominent cryonicist that I hoped to
be able to find some way of suspending my mother, in spite of her
reluctance to participate.  He then questioned how well this fit with
my libertarian and such views about not violating people's rights to
make decisions about their life, liberty, and property, and the extent
to which doing so might set a precedent in which parties opposed to my
suspension would feel freer to interfere with it.
 
Mother explicitly did nothing to promote her suspension, but
implicitly did almost everything, which, at least in retrospect,
facilitated the project; and other circumstances seemed almost to
conspire to do so as well:
 
(a)Although she did not implement a "living will," she made itclear
    to family and medical professionals that she declined
    "extraordinary measures," which would have involved many
    moreparties and institutions.  She arranged (as much as possible)
    to die at home, therebyavoiding the involvement of hospital
    personnel and facilities.

(c)Though admitted to the hospital, she insisted on leaving itand
    returning home.
 
(d)She had round the clock care at home, including oxygen.
 
(e)Things were so arranged that death could be easily certified.
 
(f)She did in fact die when of the family only I was present, todo
    as I chose, and was able, at that precise juncture.
 
(g)Her doctor visited her that afternoon, continuing the state ofa
    physician in attendance, and noting her deterioratedcondition.
 
(h) Interment arrangements had been made that very morning,thereby
    easing my own arrangements with the mortuary.
 
(i)Qualified observers (the attendants) were on hand to
    confirmdeath, as authorized by physician in charge.
 
(j)Certain limited funds from the estate were soon available
    toaddress certain expenses.
 
(k)There were no more specific written instructions which mighthave
    interfered with the project.
 
(l)The arranged (whole body) burial helped to forestall efforts to
    implement whole body or cephalic suspension, which might have
    prevented any suspension at all.
 
(m)Her cousin, a registered nurse, was in frequent
    attendance.
 
(n)That very day, I attempted to inform her of what I was planning.
 
(o)Mother did authorize any donations for scientific use
    [thedonation as it occurred is at least partly consistent with
    such].
 
(p)She wanted to be buried [burial occurred].
 
(q) She did not positively exclude this compromise [compromise
    implemented.]
 
(r) There was to be no funeral (which might have complicated
    procedures) [burial occurred immediately after suspension and
    without a funeral.
 
(s)She was interested in and hopeful of reincarnation [ifrevived,
    she will have a new body--both hers and not hers, inthe
    appropriate senses].)
 
(t) She hoped to live life better the next time around [her
    memoryshould be available as a guide].
 
(u)She felt that her death signaled the beginning of a great
    adventure [what an adventure!].
 
 
A Miracle in Our Time?
 
This idea for a sculpture (collaborators welcome!)  has repeatedly
occurred to me, with varying details, an inversion and a combination
in its sorrow and its hope of Michangelo's "Pieta" and numerous images
of Madonna and Child.  Please make allowances for any presumption,
though at least one colleague has independently conceived something of
this vision.  Depicted is one immobile, immersed in clear, silent,
cold liquid, arms crossed around a smallish silvery metal package
embedded in the chest, and smiling.  A descriptive title might well
be, "Cryonically Suspended AIDS Victim Bears His Mother's Brain."
 
Often during the few days from that Monday through Thursday, and
especially during those most harrowing, most awesome twenty hours, I
said, "It will be something like a miracle if this happens."  Michele
argues eloquently that a miracle is precisely what it was, and one in
which Noel Sullivan's efficacy participated.  We had relinquished our
hopes for immediate healing, but Michele contends that, many being the
mansions and varied the paths of this magnificent cosmos, a true
miracle is not a one-sided intrusion into our realm from without.
Rather, it applies creatively and with great surprise-instilling
novelty the most advanced tools and perspectives.  How better to
suggest that agency than to smooth this way that may join Mother and
me more intimately than ever before into a marvelously intricate and
structured mutual project, one not totally unprecedented, but
significantly so in its pioneering aspect, and a compromise that may
earn us very much indeed!
 
In her holiday card to Mother, Michele wrote:  "I believe in miracles,
angels, saints, the intervention of loved ones in heaven on our
behalf--but I know the most healing of all these is love."
 
Last November, before I realized that Mother was ill, a good and very
supportive friend of mine told me she had just learned that, as a
result of blood transfusions some ten years ago, she had been infected
with HIV.  In solidarity with her and her Jewish heritage, I copied
onto a greeting card a few words in Hebrew from the Song of Songs.
After Mother's suspension, I noticed that I'd written notes--names of
family, friends, doctors, phone numbers, and thelike--pertaining to
Mother's condition and case on the sheet of paper on which I'd
calligraphed a draft of the Biblical quote and which now seemed
fortuitously to function as a headline for the entire project.  It is
a half stich of verse 6, chapter 8, and in my English it reads:  "For
[at least as] strong as death is love."
 
But hail!  You, the fragile glory of animalhood!  You, belly that
kindled and held me, portal that birthed me, breasts that fed me, arms
that held hugged me, eyes that bathed me with sorrow and love!  You,
somber morbid tissues and organs, terrible in your desperate plight!
You, sweet, clean, vibrance of wholesome ones, unremittingly and
faithfully laboring to the very end!  You, tragic beauty of their
whole corporate truth!  You, radiant convoluted mutually hemispheric
intricacies of that flaming crystal, glistening, as if newborn, in
light for the first time, your incandescent sparks dimmed after almost
three quarters of a century, whither her essence is withdrawn, and now
cherished, abides!  In fellowship and through our tears did you
counterparts within me, and as we do again right now, silently shout
with provisional joy.
 
Traveling in this consequent sea of uncertainty and buffeted by its
problematic hazard, yet the chart smoothed out and the course
illumined from what seems the glowing lodestar of a real hope, I begin
the more distinctly to discern the details and the weight of the
awesome task I have undertaken.  And so, I salute all you
collaborators and interested parties, nod tentatively and wistfully to
you, Noel--dear Pseudo Uncle and True Brother, mightn't you be there
with a wholesome, soulful miracle for me?--and fix on life and the
future.  Meanwhile, dear Momma, albeit it metaphorically (I plan to
"go neuro"!)  I hold you close to my heart and start the job of
nursing you back to health; and I cherish this grief, to relinquish it
and be consoled only to realize that greater joy, now perhaps presaged
by the tentative blessing which I do surmise may henceforth tinge all
my days.  In remembering you, and them, and this, may we all be
blessed.  And let us say:  "Amen!"
 
After Poem of Emily Dickenson
by Jerry White
 
Stilled in our Chronostatic Chambers--
Unwarmed by noon and
>From midnight no chill--
Bide we staunch prospects of Resuscitation--
Rafter of Liquid--and Roof of Steel!
 
Grand go the Years--in the Crescent--above us--
Worlds scoop their Arcs--
and Firmaments--row--
Emblems--decay--and Tyrants--surrender--
Soundless as dots--on a Disc of Snow--

--
edgar@spectrx.saigon.com (Edgar W. Swank)
SPECTROX SYSTEMS +1.408.252.1005  Silicon Valley, Ca