Heart surgeon and medical pioneer Michael DeBakey died, at the age of 99. Actually, he was less than 2 months shy of his 100th birthday.

I remember hearing about DeBakey and his contemporary, Christian Barnard, the famed South African cardiac surgeon, in the late 1960s. Heart transplants, artificial hearts–all very distant and vague to a child, but yet the names stuck in my head. Both names would make the medical news over and over again.

DeBakey, as it turns out, was a lot more than just your average long-lived cardiac surgeon. I really knew little about him, other than that he was famous for pioneering a number of surgical techniques, performing the first human heart transplant in the U.S., and helping to develop the artificial heart, as well as implanting the first one into a live patient.

Reading about him now, just after his death, makes me breathless. And at the same time I am inspired and discouraged, because I look at all he accomplished and think of how little I’ve done in my own life. What am I waiting for? The other interesting thing is that DeBakey has shown that old age does not mean internment in a nursing home with a million debilitating illnesses. Yes, the man did look old and wrinkled at age 99, but his mind was razor sharp, and aside from a torn aorta that he experienced at age 97 (and survived surgery to repair it and was back at work after a month in intensive care) his health was excellent. Right up until he died, DeBakey was still active, still consulting and mentoring, and keep up a hectic schedule of writing and travel.

There are a number of really good in-depth articles about his life, his accomplishments, and personal achievements. But here’s a run down from the LA Times:

In his highly influential career, DeBakey performed the first coronary artery bypass surgery and the first carotid endarterectomy to prevent strokes. He developed the pump that is the key component of the heart-and-lung machines routinely used on patients during heart surgery and an artificial heart now used to keep patients alive while they wait for their own heart to improve.

He also developed the concept of the mobile army surgical hospital — immortalized in the film “M*A*S*H.” He also played a key role in the creation of the National Library of Medicine and transformed the Baylor College of Medicine and its Texas Medical Center from a third-rate hospital into a nationally recognized center of excellence for heart care.

I had no idea that he had anything to do with MASH units. Another article I read said that he was influential in convincing President Johnson, who was one of his patients, to sign the bill that established Medicare. He also spoke French, German and Arabic, and in 1939, published the first scientific paper linking cigarette smoking to lung cancer.

His ideas were far reaching, and have really become the standard of care. And of course, he was challenged by the status quo who wanted to keep the mediocre status quo. Instead, in-between caring for patients and inventing new surgical techniques, and publishing medical papers, he also dived into reforming Baylor College of Medicine from some backwater school into the world class and world renowned center that it is today.

Later that year, the Baylor University School of Medicine, as it was then known, tried to get DeBakey to join its faculty, but he turned down the offer twice. “They didn’t have any clinical service. They had no hospital. They had no residents, no training program in surgery,” he told the Houston Chronicle.

He ultimately accepted when the university promised him a 20-bed surgical service at Hermann Hospital and a free hand as chief of surgery. He quickly became unpopular.

One of his first controversies involved a rule he announced stating that physicians with no training in surgery could not operate at Baylor-affiliated hospitals. “No one who is unqualified to do good operations should be allowed to operate,” he said.

He was also unpopular with the Harris County Medical Society in Houston because of his new ideas — including the creation of intensive care units at Baylor, establishing new training guidelines for surgeons and admitting black patients — and his frequent appearances in the local newspapers, something that was then against the society’s rules. When the society tried to eject him, he hired attorney Leon Jaworski, who stopped the proceedings with a single letter.

After 20 years as chief of surgery, he became the school’s chief executive at a time when it was near bankruptcy. One of his first actions was to sever it from Baylor so that it could accept federal funds for research.

He also spearheaded a campaign that raised $30 million to eliminate the school’s debt. A foundation he created still contributes $2 million a year to the school.

About the same time, he played a key role in the formation of a new Houston high school designed to attract youths, particularly ethnic and racial minorities, into medical professions. The school is now known as the Michael E. DeBakey High School for Health Professions.

If you’re not exhausted yet from reading about this man, here’s one last tidbit…

He also advocated specialized medical and surgical follow-up systems for military veterans, a program that eventually became the Veterans Affairs healthcare system.”

Thank you, Dr. DeBakey. And now, I am going to get off my ass and do something. Even if it’s just cleaning up my office and getting the last boxes unpacked.