Prime Slime

Years of struggle and frustration had taken their toll. The MIFF enterprise consumed the better part of Evan’s adult life, and he was slowly losing the will to maintain it. But the job could not be left unfinished. Bringing MIFF to market was the only acceptable outcome. Since only one in 5,000 inventions is a blockbuster, the odds were squarely against financial success. The profit would likely end up in someone else’s pocket anyway. But Evan was bent on seeing his invention to completion.

The lack of commercial success rested on several factors. Until recently, Evan was a one-man band, and forced to wear many hats. In those capacities, he made mistakes and created enemies, both within and outside the institution. On the outside were the usual suspects: bureaucratic government agencies, corporate monopolies, and cut throat business practices. The world was unfair long before Evan came along.

Problems on the inside were equally entrenched. Myopic administrators and arrogant physicians ran the hospital. These were the privileged classes, spoiled by pharmaceutical industry perks. Physicians were revered, yet hated, by hospital personnel. Dealing with these megalomaniacs for so many years, Evan struggled to contain his resentment.

But, for Evan, the problem ran much deeper. Burrstone was simply not prepared for MIFF; there were no policies or programs to deal with intellectual property, patent law, technology transfer, or revenue sharing. The nest was currently too small for Evan’s big egg. He worked tirelessly to change that, but things moved slowly and painfully. But, he was intent on being the “squeaky wheel” that created friction and forced change.

Burrstone was initially not in favor of patenting the invention, but Evan demanded their involvement. This was likely his only chance to make a splash, and he was not about to give up. Evan couldn’t to do it on his own, and Dr. Wally was afraid to rock the boat. So, Evan sought support from higher up. He pleaded with hospital administrators, but they ignored his phone calls, memos and emails, and were growing impatient with his assertiveness. When all else failed, Evan moved up the chain of command to the Chief of Medicine, Dr. Ted Honcho. The cause resonated with Honcho, who stepped in and directed Hospital Administration to invest in MIFF technology.

Evan was ecstatic about Burrstone’s decision to support him. It was only a start, but he felt recognized and respected for his efforts. It helped him let go of resentments, and feel proud to be part of his institution.

Shortly thereafter, he was summoned to the office of Minnie Hardash, Vice President of Administration, in charge of legal affairs. Oddly enough, Hardash did not have a law degree. Her family ties with the hospital were as old as the hospital itself. She was a tiny woman in her late 60s, and unremarkable in most respects. Evan donned a new suit and a fresh haircut to look his best for the occasion. He greeted Ms. Hardash gracefully, bowing as he offered his hand. They sat across from one another separated by a large oak desk, upon which stacks of legal forms awaited. She could barely be seen behind her fortress, lost like a child in her Italian leather, wing-backed chair. Evan sat uncomfortably in a metal folding chair.

Hardash’s forced smile barely concealed her intentions. “So, finally I get to meet the esteemed Dr. Lucian. I hope you are pleased that we have moved forward with your invention.”

Evan nodded affirmatively.

“But first things first: You need to sign this document assigning the invention to Burrstone, and waiving your rights. You realize that you have no claim to this invention, Dr. Lucian. It is now the property of Burrstone. You will receive a small bonus for your efforts. Is that understood?”

Expecting praise, her bluntness threw him off completely. Evan tried to collect himself, but his growing rage was palpable. In a voice barely below the danger threshold, he begged to differ.

“You do not seem to understand. This is merely the beginning. We have much more work to do, and only I can make it happen. Without incentives, why would I continue this project?” The temperature in the room was rising precipitously.

“You are under contract! The law is clear on this. You used our facilities and were paid well for your services. Your invention was made in our labs, with our equipment. It does not belong to you!”

Evan was about to blow a fuse. “Paid well? Do you have any idea how much of my life is buried in this enterprise, and how much more it will take to carry it to completion? This project began long before coming to this institution.”

Evan began studying slime back in graduate school, well over a decade earlier. Much of the groundwork was already in place when he arrived at Burrstone, though MIFF was not yet discovered. The disdain from Hardash was incomprehensible, considering the many years of sacrifice and the work ahead. In Minnie Hardash’s world, the established pecking order was based on income and position. Physicians and administrators came first, followed remotely by everyone else. Hardash could barely discern between scientists and custodians. But Evan refused to be judged by that yardstick. He had invested too much to yield so easily.

Evan gnashed his teeth as he spoke. “It would have been much different had a physician invented MIFF, I’m sure! I attended college for as many years as physicians do, and much longer than business administrators!”

Hardash winced slightly, but held fast to the upper hand. She did not quite understand the science behind MIFF, but assumed it was not worth much. “What makes this invention any better than all the worthless wonders discovered every year?” Her sarcasm was not lost on Evan.

“That will be left for experts to determine, not administrators without a scientific or medical background, not to mention a legal background!”

Hardash’s evil eye hit Evan like a laser beam. Never did such a diminutive creature fume so profusely.

“We are paying you to do a job using our facilities. Therefore anything you do belongs to Burrstone!” She leaned over her desk between the stacks of papers, and looked him straight in the eye. “We own you, Lucian!” A crooked smile moved up her face. There was just enough space between the stacks of papers to punch her in the face, but Evan contained himself.

“It would cost you dearly to replace me. Without my guidance, this enterprise will go nowhere.”

“All the better!” she responded without blinking. “I would just as soon dispose of you AND your worthless invention!”

“How long do you think hospitals can rely on the same old drugs?” Evan argued. “Bacteria are already resistant to most antibiotics. New drugs must replace the old ones.”

“Let someone else do it somewhere else!” Hardash screamed. “This is a hospital! Our business is treating patients!”

“You must be in denial, because I’ve been here a long time, and you obviously haven’t noticed. I plan to see this technology through. The last thing we need is for you to decide its fate!”

“I repeat; this is not your property! And you are out of line!”

Evan was undaunted, and would play hardball if necessary. He knew the patent would commit the hospital not only to MIFF, but also to him. With another deep breath, Evan collected his thoughts. “These questions are for lawyers to decide. All I want is to be compensated fairly.”

“You need to be tossed out on your ass!”

Again, Evan breathed deeply and answered calmly: “We are on the same team, Hardash. It behooves us to work together.”

With that, he rose from his chair and walked out of her office. He stopped briefly at the door, and turned his face to her: “I am the heart and soul of this venture. You need to respect that.”

* * *

And so it was business as usual at Burrstone. Nothing was in place to bring Evan’s invention forward. Without a legal team, or a business model, things were slowed to a snail’s pace. Every transaction took weeks or months for approval. Hardash had a personal dislike for Dr. Lucian, and deliberately dragged her feet. She wanted no part of this enterprise, fearing its inevitable failure would reflect on her. She was also unwilling to make any moves without counsel, but was reluctant to seek it. Inevitably, MIFF ended up at the bottom of her pile. Research is seen as a necessary evil by hospital administrators. They don’t want to be chasing pipe dreams, not with all the other immediate priorities they juggle.

Evan was not usually one to fuss, but it was time to put up or shut up. Opportunities like MIFF came once in a lifetime. Either he championed the cause, or remained in the shadows forever. It was time to take a stand.

Meanwhile, Dr. Wally was nowhere to be found. He saw MIFF as a hot potato. Besides, his basic reflex was not to disturb the higher ups. Though usually a go getter, Wally would not rock the boat in this instance. He knew the significant commitment involved, both in money and personnel, and the high likelihood of failure. Without Wally’s active support, Evan was on an island.

Needless to say, Evan was swimming in disappointment. He expected more from the Chief in return for his service. Evan’s ascendance reflected well on Wally. Several key articles were published in top-tier medical journals, each with Wally’s name on them. It was Wally’s privilege to be co-author, despite having almost nothing to do with the research or write-up. Keeping Evan out of trouble entitled him to that privilege. They had a good working relationship: Wally fattened his résumé, and kept research a priority in the department, while Evan had autonomy, and a creative environment to work in. They had worked well together all these years, but this MIFF thing was a notable exception.

Eventually Evan grasped the politics involved, and learned to appreciate his Chief’s vital role. Wally dealt with all the crap so Evan didn’t have to. Plus, as head of the Division, Wally carried far more responsibility. You could say he made the bigger sacrifice. It took Evan forever to appreciate that fact, because politics seemed such a waste of time. Undoubtedly, Wally deserved some credit for the MIFF invention, having allowed Evan the freedom and resources to play.

Evan knew slime when he saw it, and big business seemed especially slimy. Scientists were mere pawns in the high-stakes corporate world. Yet, it was a necessary evil to advance his technology. Myopic administrators, overpaid lawyers, and cut-throat investors were now vital to his success. He had sided with the enemy.

But, for Evan, it was never about money. He was driven more by a desire to master his craft, and to find a sense of purpose. He was happiest when absorbed in his work: finding a silver lining in every failed experiment; choosing which new door to take at every turn; and concocting theories to make sense of the data. The greatest prize came from getting lost in your work, going where no one had been before, and surviving to tell the story. This was the compensation he sought, and the key to discovery.

His journey started long ago, in a clinical lab, examining feces for parasites. It was Evan’s first stint as a microbiologist. What grossed most people out, he found fascinating. Over time, he could identify most pathogens and glean their dirty secrets. Evan grew comfortable handling slime, and came to know its every wrinkle.

Having discovered his life’s work, Evan went to graduate school in the University of Texas system. Texas oil and gas supported some of the best medical schools in the country. Ample research funds and equipment attracted the best educators, and lured Asians and Yankees like Evan with scholarships. He spent four years studying viral, fungal, parasitic and bacterial diseases. His biofilm research began there early on.

At the time, the word ‘biofilm’ did not exist, and little was known about slime. Few considered it a worthy subject for study. Meanwhile, molecular geneticists and protein chemists were revolutionizing the biological sciences. So much more was known about DNA and proteins than about complex carbohydrates, from which biofilms were composed.

Slime was also the focus of Evan’s graduate school mentor, who foresaw its importance in disease, and realized the uncharted opportunity. Unfortunately, a career in slime meant starting from scratch, without a compass, or the shoulders of giants to stand on. The subject was one that few could hang their hat on. Though competition was slim, collaboration was equally scarce. Fortunately, Evan cared less about what others were studying. Gracelessness was his saving grace. He was determined to create his own path and follow his curiosity, with his mentor’s guidance. It would take many years before they made any real contribution to the science of biofilms.

Before making headway, Evan needed to develop techniques to study slime. It was akin to paving roads in anticipation of the automobile. The first decade or so of research involved just that. The chemistry of slime had to be worked out first, and there were numerous types of slime made by bacteria. Each strain made its own unique type, which often distinguished one strain from another, especially from a disease standpoint. At the molecular level, these slimes were complex carbohydrates, which are sugars held together in long chains, like pearls. Some chains are branched; some are linear. Different slimes contained different types of sugars as well, in different patterns. One type of slime might bind tightly to bacteria, while another sloughed off easily. Over billions of years, bacteria have devised many ways of making and using slime. Yet, only a few are associated with infection. These were the focus of Evan’s studies.

It was imperative to understand slime in order to understand disease. By discerning the forces that kept slime together, they discovered ways to disperse, dismantle, and eventually inhibit it. Some isolated the genes involved in making slime. Others identified the medically important biofilms, and characterized the diversity in complex, multi-species biofilms. Such projects inspired thousands of careers in science.

Eventually the nature of slime and biofilms began to unfold. Virtually all bacteria make it. Each germ is enveloped in its own slime capsule, which provides a multi-purpose shield. By making bacteria more elusive, it provided a major survival advantage. Plus, its stickiness allowed bacteria to form biofilm masses, making them even harder to kill or dislodge.

Evan’s doctoral dissertation focused on dissolving the glue that held slime together. By extracting slime from bacteria, he could then measure it. With this yardstick, he tested how various chemicals affected slime production. These techniques provided the strategic advantage needed to discover MIFF.

With a rapid measuring tool in hand, Evan screened thousands of chemicals, and identified several agents that affected slime formation. Some enhanced it, while others inhibited it. Enhancers could make bacteria more dangerous. Inhibitors made them less so. Some forms of slime even had commercial value, and were used as thickeners (e.g., xanthan gum), so it was useful to enhance this type of slime. In contrast, slime inhibitors had the potential to prevent infection. Evan was wise to focus on the inhibitors.

An early challenge was a black sludge lurking in the lab sink, often clogging it, and smelling like vomit. Chlorine treatment worked temporarily, but the slime always returned. Numerous concoctions were poured down the drain, to no avail. During this dogfight, Evan discovered MIFF and beat the black sludge.

Though arch enemies, Evan commiserated with slime. Scientists are like slime in that they are also stubbornly stuck somewhere, focused intently on some goal. Black slime was a worthy focus. The parallels went even further: Just as sludge insulates itself from harm, Evan insulated himself from the outside world, sacrificing everything to solve this important riddle. Black sludge was great at clogging things and corroding them. Evan knew how costly this was, and the impact of defeating it.

With slime, rats and test tubes his closest companions, Evan made major advances, but eventually grew disillusioned with research. He was tired of a one-dimensional, insulated life. Like other scientists, he had limited visibility outside the lab and classroom. Isolation had its moments, but not for an older, wiser man starving for human contact. Early on, he hid in the lab, but this was no longer an option. Now he desired other things, and to be in communion with people. It was time to step into a new life. Yet, until the MIFF story was complete, or until he could find some closure with it, the next chapter would have to wait.

As such, Evan’s personal life suffered. After many failed relationships, he was living a spartan, lonely life in a bachelor’s pad, just a mile from work. Despite dating around, he had little faith in romance. Age caught up with him, and casual relationships grew tiresome. Evan was suffering from burnout.

Any great pursuit takes its toll. Working long hours at the same job for decades eats away at the fabric of life, regardless of the nature of work. Once a devoted scientist, he was no longer following his heart, but rather an illusion. It was a setup for failure.