When Clark woke up from the surgery, very much alive, reporters compared the operation to the 19th- century novel “Frankenstein,” in which a scientist animates a dead body. Indeed, the fact that an artificial heart could pump blood as efficiently as a natural heart was a remarkable achievement.

But the remainder of Clark's life was extremely difficult. During the 112 days that he survived, he underwent four additional operations, had several episodes of bleeding, and experienced prolonged periods of confusion. He even asked to die on several occasions.

Was Clark a victim or a hero? Probably both. In retrospect, the University of Utah, in its eagerness to build a better artificial heart, allowed Clark to enter the experiment before enough animal testing had been done. And from a medical perspective, Clark's preexisting lung disease probably made him a poor candidate.

But Clark very much knew that he was entering uncharted waters. He hoped to benefit from the device, but also knew it might not help him at all. On numerous occasions, he stated that he was undergoing the experiment for the benefit of medical science.

Clark's name may not be widely remembered now but for 112 days, the world watched a man--and his especially dignified and impressive family—tackle a new medical frontier. As in so many other cases, the road proved more rocky than smooth.

Barron H. Lerner, MD, PhD
Columbia University Mailman School of Public Health
Author of "When Illness Goes Public: Celebrity Patients
and How We Look at Medicine" (Johns Hopkins, 2006)

My new book, “When Illness Goes Public: Celebrity Patients and How We Look at Medicine,” traces 13 famous medical cases beginning with Lou Gehrig, who was diagnosed with amyotrophic lateral sclerosis (ALS) in 1939. Others whose illnesses are described include Margaret Bourke-White (Parkinson’s disease), Brian Piccolo (embryonal cancer), Steve McQueen (mesothelioma), Rita Hayworth (Alzheimer’s disease), Arthur Ashe (AIDS), Lorenzo Odone (adrenoleukodystrophy) and Lance Armstrong (testicular cancer).

The three recent cases nicely demonstrate several themes in the book. When the actress Fawcett was diagnosed with anal cancer, a rare disorder affecting the end of the intestinal tract, in October, she immediately went public with the news. Like many other sick celebrities, she viewed her diagnosis not only as an opportunity to educate the public about a specific disease but to destigmatize a potentially embarrassing condition.

Fawcett also announced her intention to fight her disease to the maximum. “I am resolutely strong,” she announced, “and I am determined to bite the bullet and fight the fight while going through the next six weeks of cutting-edge, state-of-the-art treatment.” Fawcett will hopefully triumph over her cancer, as did Lance Armstrong, but it is important to note that many other “fighters,” such as Steve McQueen, eventually succumbed to their cancers.

Michael J. Fox, the well-known actor of “Family Ties” and “Back to the Future” fame, exemplifies the sick celebrity who forms a foundation and actively campaigns for increased funding for research into his or her disease. Fox’s advocacy of stem cell research became a political hot potato during the last election cycle, but other celebrities, most notably Christopher Reeve, have also pushed the envelope in pursuit of radically new treatment options for severe conditions.

Ed Bradley’s case was a throwback. When it became known that the veteran journalist had concealed the chronic lymphocytic leukemia (CLL) that killed him earlier this month, there was some resentment that he had not gone public while he was still alive. After all, it was argued, he could have done a great service in informing the public about CLL. A lung disease activist who recently attended one of my lectures expressed a similar regret that no celebrity with that disease has yet become a recognizable spokesperson. Still, celebrities—other than politicians—are surely under no obligation to tell the public anything about their illnesses.

In sum, celebrity patients have provided important guideposts to patients and families confronting serious diseases. While such stories should not replace “evidence-based medicine” as a mechanism for guiding treatment options, they provide both information and inspiration at a time of great anxiety.

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Barron H. Lerner is a physician and historian at Columbia University and author of “When Illness Goes Public: Celebrity Patients and How We Look at Medicine (Johns Hopkins, 2006).

We look forward to his insights and hope you'll give him a warm welcome.