Excerpt from The Body by Bill Bryson, plus links to reviews, author biography & more

Far more personally noble than Forssmann, and no less stoic in his capacity for experimental discomfort, was Dr. John H. Gibbon of the University of Pennsylvania. In the early 1930s, Gibbon began a long and patient quest to build a machine that could oxygenate blood artificially, to make open-heart surgery possible. To test the capacity of blood vessels deep within the body to dilate or constrict, Gibbon stuck a thermometer up his rectum, swallowed a stomach tube, and then had icy water poured down it to determine its effect on his internal body temperature. After twenty years of refinements, and much heroic swallowing of iced water, Gibbon unveiled the world's first heart- lung machine at the Jefferson College Hospital in Philadelphia in 1953 and successfully patched a hole in the heart of an eighteen-year-old woman who would otherwise have died. Thanks to his efforts, the woman lived another thirty years.

Unfortunately, the next four patients died, and Gibbon gave up on the machine. It then fell to a surgeon in Minneapolis, Walton Lillehei, to improve both the technology and the surgical techniques. Lillehei introduced a refinement known as controlled cross-circulation in which the patient was hooked up to a temporary donor (usually a close family member) whose blood was circulated through the patient during the period of surgery. The technique worked so well that Lille-hei became widely known as the father of open-heart surgery and enjoyed a great deal of acclaim and financial success. Unfortunately, he wasn't quite as impeccable in his private affairs as he might have been. In 1973, he was convicted of five counts of tax evasion and a great deal of very imaginative bookkeeping. Among much else, he had claimed a $100 payment to a prostitute as a charitable tax deduction.

Although open-heart surgery allowed surgeons to correct many faults they previously couldn't get at, it couldn't solve the problem of a heart that wouldn't beat right. That required the device now universally known as a pacemaker. In 1958, a Swedish engineer named Rune Elmqvist, working in collaboration with the surgeon Åke Senning of the Karolinska Institute in Stockholm, built a pair of experimental cardiac pacemakers at his kitchen table. The first was inserted into the chest of Arne Larsson, a forty-three-year-old patient (and himself an engineer) who was very near death from a heart arrhythmia as a result of a viral infection. The device failed after just a few hours. The backup was inserted and it lasted for three years, though it kept breaking down and the batteries had to be recharged every few hours. As technology improved, Larsson was routinely fitted with new pacemakers and lived another forty-three years. When he died in 2002 at the age of eighty-six, he was on his twenty-sixth pacemaker and had outlived both his surgeon Senning and his fellow engineer Elmqvist. The first pacemaker was about the size of a pack of cigarettes. Today's are no bigger than one American quarter and can last up to ten years.

The coronary bypass, which involved taking a length of healthy vein from a person's leg and transplanting it to direct blood flow around a diseased coronary artery, was devised in 1967 by René Favaloro at the Cleveland Clinic in Ohio. Favaloro's was a story at once inspiring and tragic. He grew up poor in Argentina and became the first member of his family to attain a higher education. Upon qualifying as a doctor, he spent twelve years working among the poor but came to the United States in the 1960s to improve his skills. At the Cleveland Clinic, he was little more than a trainee at first but quickly proved himself adept at heart surgery and in 1967 invented the bypass. It was a comparatively simple but ingenious procedure, and it worked brilliantly. Favaloro's first patient, a man too ill to walk up a flight of stairs, recovered completely and lived another thirty years. Favaloro grew wealthy and celebrated and in the twilight of his career decided to return home to Argentina to build a heart clinic and teaching hospital, where doctors could be trained and needy people treated whether they could afford payment or not. All of this he achieved, but because of challenging economic conditions in Argentina, the hospital got into financial difficulties. Unable to see a way out, in 2000 he killed himself.

Excerpted from The Body by Bill Bryson. Copyright © 2019 by Bill Bryson. All rights reserved. No part of this excerpt may be reproduced or reprinted without permission in writing from the publisher.