Lawrence M. Shuer
So Long, Norman Shumway
On Feb. 10, one day after his 83rd birthday, Norman Shumway, M.D., died in his Palo Alto home from complications of cancer. He was the father of heart transplantation, one of the preeminent cardiothoracic surgeons of all times.
His success was underpinned by an attitude unusual for a superstar. Norm's consistent theme was continuity and the belief that a great training program must - and did - underpin his efforts.
As a scientist Norm wasn’t deterred by the prevailing mystique of the heart as the center of life. He fought hard to ensure that the concept of brain death would prevail when donor hearts were needed. Nevertheless, his clinical accomplishments have given “heart” to patients and families, and cardiac transplantation's success over time has given many patients hope and a true "new lease on life" where previously there was certain death.
Dr. Shumway shunned the attention that came to him, but ironically he became one of the most recognizable faces at Stanford Medical Center. In a popular sense, if Stanford had a human logo, it might be Norman Shumway. More seriously, he was the quintessential, maybe the last, "triple threat" - a master of research, clinical care and teaching for a half century. But before becoming too flowery, I must keep in mind Norm’s acute, often irreverent wit, which I fear even now could return to strike me down for mellifluence.
Norm was born in Kalamazoo, Mich. After being drafted into the Army in World War II, he completed an accelerated military medical program leading eventually to an M.D. from Baylor University in 1949. In 1956 he received a Ph.D. in cardiovascular surgery from the University of Minnesota, where he also had served his residency.
Shortly after coming to Stanford as an instructor in surgery in 1958, Norm began studying heart transplantation. Ten years later, on Jan. 6, 1968, he performed the first successful adult human heart transplant in the United States. Ironically, his meticulous research and careful preparations contributed to his own preemption in South Africa a month earlier by Christian Barnard, who found a donor first after adapting protocols developed by Shumway and his trainee, Richard Lower. Characteristically, I've heard reports that Norm breathed a sigh of relief believing he could perform his operation with less fanfare, because "the world’s first heart transplant" had already been reported. But Norm was wrong. The U.S. media showed up and continued to show up to follow his work for 30 years. By the way, there is a wonderful account of that first U.S. transplant, written by Spyros Andreopoulos, director emeritus of the medical school’s Office of Communication & Public Affairs, in the Feb. 15 issue of Stanford Report:
Despite pressures to the contrary and true to form, Dr. Shumway avoided the celebrity life, rigidly restricting his media and public exposure as he methodically made progress in an unusually linear manner. Norm was always the scientist carefully researching, always the clinician preparing for the next case, and always the teacher and mentor preparing a top quality team to advance care.
After a flurry of disappointments, virtually all medical centers had abandoned heart transplantation by the late 1970s. But Norman Shumway persisted, doggedly continuing research aided by his team of scientists who developed and tested anti-rejection medications and protocols that have helped advance all forms of organ transplantation and immunology generally.
In 1981, he assisted Bruce Reitz, who later succeeded him as cardiothoracic chair, in the first combined heart/lung transplant operation. (The current chair, Robert Robbins, is another Shumway trainee).
The Department of Cardiothoracic Surgery, which Norm founded in 1974 and chaired until retirement in 1993, was second to none - and notable for its training program. His former trainees read like a Who’s Who of cardiothoracic surgery with many program directors and chairs. Some trainees went on to spectacular success in seemingly unrelated fields, such as Johns Hopkins University President Bill Brody and U.S. Senate majority leader Bill Frist.
Norman Shumway's personal influence ranged broadly. I am struck by the outpouring of admiration that has been posted on a “guestbook” website by colleagues, nurses, friends and patients who have recognized Norm for his humility, humanity, intelligence, compassion and wit. I highly recommend that you view a wonderful video tribute that was prepared for Norm when he retired as cardiothoracic chair in 1993. Go to:
http://mednews.stanford.edu/shumway/shumway-video.html
for a glimpse of this man as told by the diverse group of those who admired him.
I have often heard many quips attributed to Norm, some of which are repeatable and others not. I have hoped that someday someone would assemble them into a book of one-liners. An example: "All bleeding stops... eventually".
Norm, like most surgeons I know, was very persnickety about sterility in the OR, but he was not infallible. Outside his old Operating Room 13, there once was a sign that read, “Norm Shumway sneezed here.”
At the fall meeting of the SHC Medical Staff, then staff president Bruce Adornato bestowed "Honorary Medical Staff" status on Norm, a category recognizing senior medical staff members for their achievements and contributions to Stanford over the years. Norm epitomized this status, but he also shared graciously the honors that night in 2005 with other worthy colleagues.
I for one feel fortunate to have been able to interact with this great physician, surgeon and scientist during my early years here at Stanford. I hope that our younger physicians will have the opportunity to hear and appreciate his contributions to our institution.
... So here is one more quip for those younger physicians, reported recently by colleague Ed Stinson, who was chief resident at the first human heart transplant. After the team removed the heart, Ed recalls, someone asked, "What have we done?" Norm’s reply: "I'm not sure. Time will tell." Then the heart started beating.
