Rabies on a Chip
Dr. Shaimaa Touma’s face squinted as she meticulously adjusted the microfluidic channels of her latest artificial brain on a chip.
Outside the confines of her lab, the sterile hallways of Denver General Hospital buzzed with the usual controlled chaos. A gurney with squeaking wheels rushed past her door, with a small, unmoving figure on top. Shaimaa, however, was lost in the intricate world of neurons and synapses, happy when the squeaking stopped.
Hours later, the hospital’s hushed whispers found their way into her sanctuary. A young boy had been admitted with a suspected case of rabies, barely ten years old. The initial diagnosis was grim. The routine vaccination didn’t seem to be working.
Shaimaa’s focus remained glued to her microscope, but a knot of unease began to tighten in her stomach. Rabies was a near-certain death sentence even in this age of advanced medical technology.
Dr. Georgios Balotis emerged from the boy’s room with slumped shoulders. He was a long-time pediatrician, someone who had seen a lot. He locked eyes with Shaimaa through the lab’s glass window. With a heavy sigh, he entered.
“Shaimaa, we have a young boy… rabies,” he explained wearily. “The vaccine didn’t take. There’s nothing more we can do.”
“Nothing? But there must be something…”
“We’ve administered the post-exposure prophylaxis,” he shook his head. “But it’s too late. The virus has already entered his central nervous system. Now it’s just a matter of time.”
Shaimaa’s gaze drifted towards her bench, where rows of organs-on-a-chip shimmered in the controlled environment. A flicker of defiance ignited in her eyes.
“No,” she decided. “We’re not giving up. Not yet.”
Shaimaa made her way to the boy’s room. The parents were sitting quietly in mourning by his side, clutching his hand.
Shaimaa introduced herself, her voice firm but cordial, explaining that she was a researcher specializing in a new technology called ‘organs-on-a-chip’.
“These chips,” she explained, pulling out a small demonstration device from her coat pocket, “contain living cells that mimic the function of human organs. We can use them to test different drugs and treatments in a way that’s faster and more accurate than traditional methods.”
The parents were hesitant at first, but listened intently as Shaimaa detailed her plan to create a personalized brain-on-a-chip using a small sample of their son’s cells. This would allow her to rapidly test various antiviral compounds directly on a model of his brain, potentially finding a combination that could halt the virus’s progression.
“It’s all experimental,” she admitted. “But it’s our best chance at the moment. The organ-on-a-chip will allow us to test hundreds of potential treatments in a fraction of the time. And time is our biggest threat right now. We can tailor the treatment to your son’s genetic makeup, increasing the probability of success.”
The father, his eyes filled with a desperate hope, spoke first.
“How long will it take? How long do we have?”
Shaimaa hesitated. She was going to give an actual answer, but there was too much emotion in the room to be direct.
“Rabies proceeds rapidly,” she said, choosing her words carefully. “We would have to start immediately. Every minute counts.”
The mother, her face red and wet, reached out and grasped Shaimaa’s hand.
“Please, Dr. Touma. Do whatever you can,” she trembled. “We can’t lose him.”
Shaimaa met her gaze. She couldn’t give them any promises aside from doing her best.
After retrieving the precious vial of the young boy’s cells, Shaimaa returned to her lab. The clock was ticking. She swiftly initiated the process of creating a brain-on-a-chip. First, she isolated the neural progenitor cells from the sample and cultured them in a specialized growth medium. These cells, with their inherent ability to differentiate into various types of brain cells, would form the foundation of her miniature brain model.
Working with her practiced precision, Shaimaa carefully seeded those cells onto the microfluidic chip. The chip alone was a marvel of modern bioengineering, etched with tiny channels which mimicked the blood-brain barrier and the intricate network of blood vessels supplying the brain.
As the cells began dividing and multiplying, guided by a cocktail of chemicals for growth, a miniature replica of the boy’s brain began to take shape on the chip.
Once she had several of these, she introduced the rabies virus to each of them. She observed its spread through the network of neurons, monitoring the devastating effects of the miniature brain in realtime. Looking through a high-powered microscope, she tracked the virus’s relentless progression, a grim reminder of what was actually happening to the boy.
Now that her model had been established, Shaimaa launched into a rapid series of experiments. She introduced various antiviral compounds and meticulously documented its effects on the infected brain-on-a-chip. Some showed promise, slowing the virus’s spread, while most proved ineffective.
Hours blurred into a relentless cycle of experiments and analysis. Shaimaa was fueled by nothing more than coffee. She barely paused to use the bathroom.
Then, there was a breakthrough. One experiment combined two antiviral agents: a repurposed drug originally meant for Ebola, and a compound synthesized from a rare Amazonian fungus.
Together, the spread of the rabies virus slowed then stuttered to a halt. Infected neurons, previously overwhelmed by the viral prowess, showed signs of recovery.
Shaimaa’s heart pounded with a surge of hope. Could this be the cure? But caution tempered her excitement. The organ-on-a-chip was a model, a simplified representation of the far more complex human brain. Would this treatment actually translate to success in the real world? She needed more data. More evidence.
She dove deeper, analyzing the specific cellular mechanisms. She discovered that the Ebola drug disrupted the virus’s ability to replicate. The fungal compound boosted the brain’s immune response, giving it a chance to fight back. The synergy was surprising.
With her further experiments, she tweaked the dosage and timing of the treatment for maximum efficiency. The results were consistent: the virus was contained and neutralized. Now could she take this success out of the lab?
Shaimaa burst into Balotis’ office.
“I think I have it,” she gasped, holding up a vial filled with a silvery liquid.
Balotis was initially skeptical, but he listened intently as Shaimaa explained her experiments and findings.
“But are you sure?” he asked, trying to temper his own hope. “This is highly experimental.”
The ethical considerations were paramount. This treatment was untested in humans. There were no clinical trials. But the alternative was a near-certain death. With the parents’ consent, and after a hurried consultation with the hospital ethics board, everyone approved the treatment.
It was administer intravenously. Shaimaa watched nervously as the liquid flowed into the young boy’s bloodstream. Then, all they could do was wait and monitor his vitals, praying for any sign of change.
Shaimaa was shaken awake. The moon shined through the window.
“Look,” Balotis gestured, sounding amazed.
The boy’s erratic brain activity, a key symptom of rabies encephalitis, had stabilized. His heart rate, once dangerously elevated, had returned to normal. Shaimaa stared at the EEG monitor. The neural activity was calm and organized.
Further tests confirmed the hopeful trend. The viral load in the boy’s cerebrospinal fluid had decreased dramatically. His immune system, bolstered by the treatment, was fighting back.
He wasn’t out of the proverbial woods yet, but the acute crisis had been averted. Shaimaa, her body trembling with exhaustion, allowed herself to feel relaxed. The organs-on-a-chip had saved a life. Perhaps a new era of medicine was here.
News of the boy’s miraculous recovery spread like wildfire online. What had been a Hail Mary in the face of insurmountable odds was now a beacon of hope. The world watched in awe at the boy’s laugh, something so simple and yet so precious.
Shaimaa was rapidly elevated as a symbol of scientific innovation. Her work with organs-on-a-chip, once viewed as a boondoggle and an idealistic concept, was now hailed by everyone as a revolutionary breakthrough. Funding poured in, research expanded, and the once-quiet lab started buzzing with a broader responsibility.
Balotis ran into Shaimaa one afternoon in the hospital cafeteria. There was a sheepish admiration on his face.
“I’ll admit I had my doubts,” he confessed. “But you proved me wrong. You and your chips.”
“It wasn’t just me,” she grinned, feeling like his colleague and peer for the first time. “It was a team effort, and the willingness to take a chance.”
The story of Katalin Karikó is definitely one we should repeat. Her work on mRNA in the 1990s was dismissed by everyone, even her own superiors. It wasn’t until her work was privatized by Moderna that the world understood the value of her research.
Organs-on-a-chip is a real technology and it does have the real potential to transform our understanding of medicine further. I hope it makes just as big an impact.