The idea of the soup occurred to me ten years ago when I hurt my hand rather badly while cutting out newspaper articles for my private archives. Entirely absorbed in snipping away, I absentmindedly took note of the cut in my palm and then saw paper glue in front of me on the table. I had a sudden flash of inspiration. It would be so practical, I thought to mysef, if I could quickly glue together the slightly open wound instead of first treating it with antiseptic powder and bandages and then having to put up with a painful healing process.
Excited by this insight, one wave of inspiration followed another, while the blood dripped merrily from the wound on the desk, soaking the newspaper in red. I thought of the tissue glue, the so-called two-component fibrin glue that is already in use for smaller injuries and for those operations where sewing is impossible, as with certain internal organs like the spleen, and with those organs whose cellular composition is not up to stress. Fibrin glue, however, has never been able to measure up to what it promised. It is compatible with tissue and capable of being absorbed well by the organism, but it does not work with gaping and mechanically induced wounds. The upshot is that it can only be used in conjunction with the classical method of sewing wounds. And so it is hardly surprising that surgeons do not like this fibrin glue, but remain sold on good old sewing, which also gives them the opportunity to show off their skill.
This will change, because I have a radical solution in mind. Although it is foreseeable that I will receive no Nobel Prize for my soup, it will nevertheless revolutionize medicine. And what does the Nobel Prize mean to me anyway? It wasn't awarded to the inventor of the light bulb either, although that invention has caused greater upheavals in this century than the spotting of the atomic nucleus. The small, invisible revolutions are the ones that count!
My intention is to eliminate the sewing method completely. It is complicated, time consuming, and can only be carried out by experts. I will even go a step further and maintain that my "instant glue" one day will be in every first-aid cabinet. An open wound will simply be glued together on the spot. That will have a life-and-death significance, particularly in traffic accidents and military conflicts.
The following is to be achieved: primary wound healing is practically done by nature alone. Problems begin only during secondary wound healing. In most cases, the wound edges do not meet exactly. Often, the wound remains open, a piece of tissue is lacking, or the tissue is so heavily damaged that it dies. Bacteria quickly penetrate torn tissue. The wound must therefore be given assistance, which means joining the wound edges by sewing, stapling, clamping—or gluing. Ideally my soup would take care of the primary healing.
Of course, my tissue glue will not be capable of doing what the skilled hands of surgeons can accomplish. Nevertheless, in the case of the injured soldier at the front or the bleeding child in a traffic accident, even orderlies will be able to give first aid by these means.
In the event that the preparation does indeed glue wounds instantaneously, it remains necessary to refine the following:
1. It must be antiseptic or "intercept" bacteria at the preliminary stages, when they penetrate the wound.
2. Because of its polymerizing property, it would instantly join the edges of a wound. However, it should never close off the wound airtight. Oxygen deficiency induces the spread of infection.
3. The immune system should not, or should not prematurely, reject the preparation.
4. The soup must, so to speak, inhabit the human body like a spirit and evaporate, into air after a short time. Two to three weeks seem to me to be a realistic period of time.
5. One must be able to handle the substance in an uncomplicated manner—practically like a genie in a tube.
If we can achieve this, then we will indeed have done humanity a glorious service.
I have been pursued by misfortune as far as the recognition and realization of my dreams are concerned. But why shouldn't I be lucky someday too?
17 March 1980
Everything is coming along splendidly—a little too splendidly. Just a little more research on extravasal blood clotting and then we can begin the animal experiments. Rosalie says I'm overworked and should get some rest, at least on the weekends. The good woman simply can't imagine that once work becomes an obsession it has nothing in common with the traditional concept of work.
It is now one A.M., and I'm still sitting here in my nice new office, which has been decorated with Rosalie's pansies. The others left long ago. The only light on in the building is the antique reading lamp on my desk. I have allowed myself a couple of glasses of red wine, and am slowly getting into a philosophical mood. My thoughts drift to Robert and Lydia and to those happy Sundays when they were carefree children. I still love them from the bottom of my heart, although they only honor us with their company during the Christmas festivities, which they have made into a boring game with their bored expressions. A silly and depressing game. We have become total strangers to one another; aside from a few trivialities; we have nothing to say to one another. Even my surprising career breakthrough does not seem to interest them. Lies, empty phrases, and coldness characterize the relationship between my children and myself. Is this the way of the world? Is everyone condemned to the same fate? Do we all wish for children and then find that
