The scientific establishment wasn���t ready.

It was the early 2010s, and knew she was on the cusp of answering one of the most fundamental questions in biology: Why do we sleep?

The neuroscientist and codirector of ���s had discovered what she and her husband and codirector would dub the , a biological ���dishwasher��� that scrubs the brain of waste during sleep. It was a finding so important that Science magazine would list it among its 10 breakthroughs of the year in 2013.

You wouldn���t have guessed its importance if you���d attended her prepublication talks at sleep conferences and meetings. She enthused to her colleagues about the idea of brain clearance, but they regarded her with open skepticism. ���They were like, ���What is she talking about?������ Nedergaard recalls. ���People looked at me like I was crazy.���

Yet the science was clear. Using sophisticated microscopy techniques to peer inside the brain, her work revealed a cellular cleaning cycle that flushes out toxic proteins primarily during sleep.

A decade and a half after those inauspicious meetings, Nedergaard���s discovery has become an engine for research worldwide, generating nearly 2,000 scientific papers. About half of them, she notes with pride, are clinical papers that address the glymphatic system���s role in diseases and conditions ranging from Alzheimer���s and Parkinson���s to strokes and migraines.

On this early March afternoon, Nedergaard, who last year became 做厙勛圖���s 11th fellow of the National Academy of Inventors, is busy preparing for the . The event, built on her foundational research, has attracted 250 registrants and a 50-person waiting list. Nedergaard is the keynote speaker.

Nedergaard���s discovery is perhaps the most dramatic chapter in a story about sleep that has been building for a generation at 做厙勛圖. But it is far from the only one. In labs, clinics, classrooms, and beyond, the University has built a formidable concentration of expertise in sleep.

And it is a story that is growing ever more relevant at a moment when people have moved from bragging about how little sleep they need to giving sleep its proper due as one of the essential pillars of health.

The whys of zzzzs

Scientists had long wondered how the brain, which gobbles up about 20 percent of our body���s energy, maintained itself. In the rest of the body, the lymphatic system works alongside the bloodstream to clear away waste. But the blood-brain barrier blocks that system entirely, leaving the brain without an obvious mechanism for cleaning itself.

One long-held theory was that the brain had its own version of a lymphatic system that used cerebrospinal fluid. But the methods scientists had typically used to understand the process���studying brain sections of dead animals���had left plenty of unanswered questions.

Stress is the body���s natural reaction to a challenge. While our psychological, behavioral, and biological responses to stress can be beneficial, chronic stress can have serious negative health implications. At the new Resilience Research Center, faculty from across the 做厙勛圖 investigate why some people bounce back from stress, trauma, and adversity and others don���t���and what can be done about it.

, Dean���s Professor, , and Professor, Departments of and :

���My research focuses on early-life exposures to neighborhood and community sources of stress and how those exposures affect health throughout the life course.

In looking at how the pandemic exacerbated the overdose crisis, we found that pre-pandemic community vulnerability and local economic conditions, as measured by high unemployment, explained most of the large increases in overdose mortality through 2022. We also found that access to substance-use treatment during pregnancy improved outcomes for mothers and infants, including reducing preterm birth and severe maternal morbidity. In terms of environmental exposures during pregnancy, our team has found adverse infant and maternal outcomes with exposures to traffic, shale gas development, low-quality public drinking water, hazardous waste management, construction projects, and extreme heat.

has led me to say environmental policy and economic policy are health policy. Policies that target improving community contexts and building community resilience are likely to have meaningful returns on investment, leading to improved health and well-being over the long term.���

, Professor, , and Executive Director, :

���There are remarkable stories of resilience, of people who have come from amazingly difficult systems, families, experiences. For three decades I have studied how early adversity and trauma impact human development at various levels of functioning. The bulk of has focused on child sexual abuse, and my work has contributed to foundational knowledge that explains the vast mental and physical health disparities exhibited by survivors.

These disparities include difficulties in social relationships with peers, parents, romantic partners, and even with one���s own children. Marked mental health difficulties, including depression, post-traumatic stress disorder, and an overactive stress-response system can disrupt key stress-regulated physiological systems associated with health and longevity. These disruptions affect our ability to fight off disease and can set the stage for metabolic and behavioral problems.

I pay particular attention to variables, conditions, and contexts that help explain why some survivors emerge relatively unscathed in comparison to their peers, as these are clues to early intervention and prevention.���

, Professor, and Departments of and , and Associate Chief of Research,�� :

���Stress is experienced across the lifespan. What changes are the challenges or stressors we face. Children absolutely feel stress, whether from school pressures, family circumstances, or social dynamics. Adolescents often experience stress around identity and belonging, while adults may juggle work and caregiving or financial strain. For older adults, stress combined with aging can increase the risk for poor health in later life.

My current focus is on finding ways to promote well-being and immune health in caregivers of a family member with dementia, as well as individuals at risk for dementia. We found that improving attention and the speed at which stressed caregivers processed information���using computerized cognitive training���also improved their memory performance under laboratory stress. Importantly, cognitive training also lessened their negative emotional responses to memory problems and challenging behaviors of their family member with dementia, suggesting that these brain games can build caregivers��� cognitive and emotional resilience.���

New research from scientists at the ���s reveals that glutathione���an antioxidant produced naturally in the body and widely marketed as a health supplement���may also serve as a powerful fuel source for cancer cells. , published in Nature, shows that tumors can break down glutathione to support their growth, challenging long-held assumptions about its role in human health.

The research was led by , an associate professor in the , and colleagues including co-first authors Fabio Hecht and Marco Zocchi, both in the Harris Lab. The findings highlight how cancer cells adapt to survive in nutrient-poor environments. While glutathione is widely known for protecting cells from damage, the team found that cancer cells can ���hijack��� it and use it as a nutrient, particularly in environments where other resources are scarce.

By analyzing human breast tumor samples and preclinical models of breast cancer, the researchers found abundant storage of glutathione, confirming that tumors aggressively consume the antioxidant. They also demonstrated that blocking the cancer���s ability to use glutathione can slow tumor growth.

The findings open new avenues for cancer treatment, particularly approaches aimed at inhibiting a tumor���s ability to use glutathione, without impacting healthy cells. Harris and his team���including 做厙勛圖 chemist , the Robert K. Boeckman Jr., and Mary H. Delton Family Distinguished Professor in Organic Chemistry, and , professor in the and an expert in cancer cell metabolism���are exploring ways to refine potential drugs that could inhibit this process and improve outcomes for patients.

At the same time, the researchers emphasize that while antioxidant-rich foods remain important for overall health, supplements that contain high concentrations of glutathione may warrant caution as scientists continue to better understand glutathione���s role in cancer biology.

���Eating a balanced diet with fruits and vegetables is important. It can control weight, reduce inflammation, and support a healthy immune system,��� Harris says. ���But people should be cautious about taking supplements in general, particularly glutathione. Taking a pill that is unregulated by the FDA and has a high concentration of glutathione can present risks.���

Read the .

When brain surgeons at the plan a tumor operation, they���re increasingly guided by more than scans and experience alone. A next-generation platform called MindTrace���developed from decades of neuroscience and neurosurgical research rooted at the ���helps surgical teams predict how different surgical decisions could affect a patient���s speech, movement, and other vital functions before tissue is removed.

The technology grew out of the University���s , founded by cognitive neuroscientist Brad Mahon and neurosurgeon . Working alongside collaborators, including alumnus Max Sims, now the CEO of MindTrace, the team developed early prototypes that integrated neuroimaging and behavioral data into a single, practical tool for the operating room. The system is now deployed at six major medical centers nationwide, with the Medical Center among the first to implement it clinically.

By combining functional MRI, brain stimulation mapping, and neuropsychological testing, surgeons can visualize and replay brain-mapping data in real time, helping clinicians optimize their care decisions and patients better understand their surgeries.

Read the and the future of brain mapping at 做厙勛圖.

PFAS, so-called ���forever chemicals,��� are as pervasive as they are persistent, raising urgent concerns about our health and environment. At the 做厙勛圖, researchers across disciplines strive to clarify how PFAS affect immunity, brain development, the economy, and even our daily decisions. Here, three experts share their insight on risks, solutions, and advocacy.

, assistant professor, :

���Many people think PFAS are the devil. Of course they���re harmful���but they���re also everywhere, from laptops and lubricants to catheters, car engines, and cell phones. PFAS compounds have an exceptional resistance to water, oil, heat, grease, and stains thanks to the extreme stability of their carbon-fluorine (C-F) bonds, which makes them highly useful yet difficult to destroy. I envision a more circular PFAS economy in which we use them when they���re necessary, then find safe ways to destroy them. focuses on scalable, cost-effective PFAS destruction���driven by renewable energy. Our platform achieves complete defluorination of many PFAS molecules, using industrial nickel-iron alloys instead of costly boron-doped diamond, incineration, or other ���brute-force��� methods to break the C-F bonds. This technology can be deployed at the source of contamination and sites of discharge: industrial runoff, production sites, or airports that use PFAS-containing ���firefighting foam.��� This gives us the potential to revolutionize remediation, generate economic opportunities, and improve public health.���

, professor of microbiology and immunology; director, and the :

���In studying the environment���s influence on our immune system, I grew interested in why some people become sicker than others after exposure to a virus, for example. Genetics are not enough to explain it; could PFAS exposure play a role? When mice get the flu, they recover; their immune systems learn and remember how to fight it. When they���re exposed to PFAS, though, it dampens that protective immune response. We���re using mice models to hone in on how PFAS may scramble the immune system and its ability to ���remember��� an invader. I���m also working with [associate professor and co-leader of the research pillar at the Institute for Human Health and the Environment] to track T-cell development in newborns. has found that levels of PFAS exposure in pregnancy may weaken the development of specialized T-cells in newborns that fight infections later in life. My advice is to really think about the products you buy and use. Don���t panic, but do take steps to limit PFAS exposure in the ways we know how. For example: Avoid heating food in any kind of plastic container; use glass. Buy pots and pans that do not have a Teflon coating or a label of ���heat-resistant��� or ���non-stick.��� Stainless steel is best. And finally, drink plenty of water but use reusable, refillable receptacles. That way, you minimize exposure to the PFAS coating in kitchenware, plastic bottles, and other vessels.���

, associate professor, :

���Most people are exposed to multiple PFAS���and other endocrine-disrupting chemicals���throughout their lives. We know these compounds can enter the brain, even during fetal development. Because they repel oils and water, they can have effects on immune and lipid-dependent brain development. We study the developing fetus to understand the influence of PFAS on brain and behavioral function, as well as on postpartum depression in mothers. also examines how PFAS can interfere with hormones, which are critical for both development and mental health. We need to study the ���curated chemical cocktails��� that mimic real-life exposure to learn how to buffer or mitigate the effects of PFAS. We also need to support the institutions that help regulate both products and the environment, so that the burden shifts away from the individual. As in other areas, our environmental health data can inform public policy with dramatic impact.���

This story appears in the fall 2025 issue of Rochester Review, the magazine of the 做厙勛圖.

���We found something.���

A gastroenterologist stood over Jess Delaney-Sloper in the recovery room as she awoke from a colonoscopy. ���It most certainly is cancer,��� the doctor said.

Delaney-Sloper struggled to make sense of the words. She was a healthy, fit 42-year-old, an avid runner and nurse practitioner. A single bout of rectal bleeding had triggered a small precautionary procedure. Now she lay alone on a hospital bed. It was January 2021, the height of COVID-19, and her husband was waiting in the parking lot to take her home.

Follow-up tests proved the doctor right���only worse: She had stage IV colon cancer. It had spread to her liver. Doctors told her she had two years to live.

The prognosis did not jibe with who Delaney-Sloper knew herself to be. ���I thought I was the picture of health,��� she says. ���I saw my primary care doctor regularly. I worked out every day.��� What���s more, she had exhibited none of the other common signs of cancer���weight loss, night sweats, abdominal pain. Just that one minor episode of rectal bleeding.

The doctors encouraged her to make peace with the prognosis. Go live your life, they told her. You don���t want to spend the time you have left in and out of the hospital.

Make peace? Delaney-Sloper had three daughters, ages 7, 9, and 11. She couldn���t accept what amounted to a palliative approach. ���I had to be there for them,��� she says. ���First kisses, puberty, all the things that girls go through���I just couldn���t imagine not being there for that. I couldn���t sit back and accept that diagnosis.���

So she and her husband, Ryan, got to work. They made calls, flew to visit top hospitals, and sought expert opinions across the country in California, New York, and Illinois. Again and again, they heard variations of the same thing: Sorry, there���s nothing we can do.

Finally, a doctor they visited in Boston mentioned an option that might just provide a solution. He connected her with , chief of the at the . The regimen was relatively new���and complicated. The procedure entailed transplanting part of the liver of a living donor. Unlike most transplants, a living donation can be scheduled. This allows doctors to perform the transplant at the optimal moment for cancer patients. And because of Delaney-Sloper���s grim prognosis, she likely would not have qualified for one from a deceased donor anyway.

Hernandez had been building a reputation among his peers for groundbreaking procedures on some of the most desperate of patients���particularly those with colon cancer that had metastasized and spread to the liver. He told Delaney-Sloper that she was an excellent candidate for living donor liver transplant surgery. In tandem with colon surgery, the regimen could potentially remove all traces of cancer from her body and eliminate the need for future chemotherapy.

Hernandez did not sugarcoat the many challenges ahead, but he also promised he would help her meet those obstacles with methodical determination. ���I always try to have a Plan A, Plan B, and Plan C,��� Hernandez says of his approach to every case.

For perhaps the first time since the diagnosis, Delaney-Sloper felt a real sense of possibility. ���There had been a lot of doors shut in our faces,��� she says. ���But Dr. Hernandez opened the door.���

The story of Delaney-Sloper and Hernandez is one of resilience, persistence, and extraordinary medical achievement. It also reflects something deeper: the power of the larger systems that a modern research university can bring to bear to make the extraordinary possible. Hernandez���s vision is leveraged by a team and an institution built to enable bold ideas and complex treatments. But it���s also the most human kind of story���a hybrid of science and deep care.

Seventy volunteers, two livers

Over the course of the next several months, Delaney-Sloper endured a punishing 12-round regimen of chemotherapy to stabilize her cancer and prevent it from spreading further. In August 2021, she traveled to Rochester and spent a week in the hospital for the first surgery: the removal of a portion of her colon and surrounding lymph nodes, performed by colorectal surgeon and division chief .

The next step was to find a compatible donor, one willing to donate about two-thirds of their liver for Delaney-Sloper���s transplant. She and Ryan gathered dozens of people on a Zoom call to share their story. The couple asked their friends and family to spread the word and to consider getting evaluated as a match. Within 24 hours, 70 people had called in to volunteer for the screening process. ���They had to dedicate one nurse just to take calls for me,��� she says, clearly moved even four years later by the generosity of their circle.

Her younger brother, Bobby Delaney, a police officer, was the first to call in. He turned out to be a match.

In February 2022, 13 months after her initial diagnosis���and after an additional 10 rounds of chemotherapy���Delaney-Sloper and her brother were in adjacent operating rooms for the lengthy and technically demanding surgical procedures. After ensuring that Delaney-Sloper had no signs of cancer progression, Hernandez removed much of the right lobe of Bobby���s liver, a process that took about six hours.

Then fellow 做厙勛圖 transplant surgeons and removed Delaney-Sloper���s diseased liver. Finally, Tomiyama completed the transplant of Bobby���s liver to Delaney-Sloper.

About 12 hours after they began, the surgeries were complete: Tomiyama and Hernandez debriefed before going home. The procedure, they told Delaney-Sloper later, was textbook perfect.

While Delaney-Sloper spent the first day or so in a sedation-induced haze with her husband and rotating crews of nurses, she does remember the moment her brother walked in, pushing a wheelchair to maintain his balance. She recalls how good he looked���so much better than she had expected after donating 69 percent of his liver. ���Seeing him for the first time, I felt pure joy, an overwhelming love for him, and admiration for his bravery. What he had done for me was incredible, and I was relieved that we both got through,��� she recalls. ���I felt very hopeful for the future.���

The pair was discharged from the hospital eight days later; they spent about a month at a nearby Airbnb so that doctors could monitor their recoveries. Over the course of the coming months, their livers each regrew almost to full size.

Delaney-Sloper continues to adjust to her post-transplant life; she lives with numbness, tingling, and pain from chemotherapy-induced neuropathy in her feet. She continues to have frequent medical appointments, and she will be on immunosuppressants for life. Yet it���s a new���and in some ways more purposeful���kind of normal. ���I could be dead right now,��� she says matter-of-factly. But she notes that it has been four years since she woke up after that first devastating colonoscopy���two years past the doctors��� initial prognosis. Her most recent scans show no evidence of disease.

Built to go big

Stories about against-the-odds cases like Delaney-Sloper���s often get simplified to highlight a single patient and a heroic doctor. But this kind of storytelling can obscure a reality that is far more layered.

Hernandez does fit the heroic mold. That���s in part a reflection of his relentless work ethic; he has been known to sketch out surgical ideas on cocktail napkins at conferences and to ditch dinners with colleagues to refine those ideas in his hotel room. He jokes that after his own three children, liver cancer is his ���fourth child.���

His drive also comes from a deeply personal source: When Hernandez completed his residency at the Mexican Institute of Social Security, his classmates celebrated with friends and family; he attended the recognition ceremony alone. His mother was home receiving chemotherapy for liver cancer, and the rest of his family remained with her as she fought for her life. She died at age 58.

However we wish to portray Hernandez���s heroism, innovations like his demand extensive teamwork and a deep bench of expertise and resources���as he himself is quick to note. ���Living donor liver transplantation requires two operating rooms, two groups of anesthesiologists, two groups of nurses, and a donor team,��� Hernandez says, ticking off just a partial list of the surgical team. Success involves hepatologists, radiologists, pathologists, pharmacists, infectious disease specialists, nutritionists, psychologists, social workers, nurse practitioners and coordinators, and administrative and support staff.

Their work is urgently, and increasingly, needed. The incidence of colon cancer in people under the age of 55 has nearly doubled over the past decade and continues to increase by 1 percent a year. Medical experts aren���t sure of the reasons; our changing diet, environmental exposures, even microorganisms in our gut might play a role. But Hernandez and his colleagues are focusing on an even more alarming fact: More of these younger patients are diagnosed at advanced stages. An understanding of potential solutions and how to accelerate them is essential.

Hernandez���s pathbreaking liver surgeries began in the early 2010s, when he was working at the London Health Sciences Centre in southwestern Ontario. There he advanced a distinctive two-stage surgical operation to treat liver cancer and metastasis. First presented in 2012 by a German team at a Miami conference, the ALPPS (Associating Liver Partition and Portal vein ligation for Staged hepatectomy) procedure offered a promising treatment for patients whose liver cancer was so extensive that it was often considered inoperable. In the first step, surgeons removed tumors from the smaller side of the liver and redirected blood flow to help that side regrow. Then, once the healthy part had regrown, surgeons removed the remaining cancerous section so the patient could survive without liver failure.

The audience of surgeons greeted the Germans��� presentation skeptically, pointing out the significant risk of complications. But Hernandez saw potential for patients who had few other options. He pushed forward with ALPPS, carefully selecting patients with the most promising clinical profiles. The procedure worked once, twice, and eventually some 50��times. While the cancer often ultimately returned, it was extending the lives of patients whose cases had seemed to hold little hope.

The field began to take notice. Soon enough, suitors from around the world were hoping to lure him to their institutions. One of those offering a position was , then the chair of the Medical Center���s .

As Hernandez deliberated over his next move���a move that likely would determine where he spent the rest of his career���he saw major potential at 做厙勛圖. ���I had the opportunity to develop a team,��� he says. ���And I could be a leader that could have an impact not only in upstate New York but nationally.��� To have that kind of influence, he knew he had to have more than a single strong champion. He needed the backing of an institution. With that kind of support, he felt confident he would be able to take his biggest ideas as far as they could go.

He had other options, but he chose 做厙勛圖. And here he began building clinical and research teams.

The next big swing

Hernandez was eager to recruit fiercely dedicated experts with wide-ranging perspectives, a strategy shaped by his own international training. As a young surgeon he had sought out institutions in Mexico, Canada, and Japan, where he had the chance to study some of the most advanced liver procedures. He wanted to learn from the best, wherever they were. The peripatetic path had additional advantages: It gave him insight into the strengths and shortcomings of different healthcare systems and the influence of cultural norms, lessons he would draw on to navigate complex medical challenges.

For example, Japan���s relatively conservative approach to organ donation from deceased donors had led it to rely more heavily on living donor liver transplantation. It was one reason Hernandez spent several months learning specialized techniques at Kyoto University, where such surgeries took place two or three times a week���far more frequently than at hospitals in North America.

So it was understandable that Hernandez���s first 做厙勛圖 hire would be a Japanese-trained surgeon. Sharing Hernandez���s obsessiveness, Tomiyama was known to practice suturing techniques in his spare time at home. Having worked in Canada and the US, he appreciated both the meticulous approach to surgical techniques that he had learned in Japan and the sense of urgency that moves medicine in America. ���The great thing about the US,��� Tomiyama says, ���is that we try to make things happen as fast as possible.���

Tomiyama would eventually become indispensable for Hernandez���s next big swing: living donor liver transplants for colon cancer patients whose disease had spread to their liver.

A paper by a Norwegian medical team that Hernandez had reviewed for a journal convinced him that such transplants could be part of a cure, despite previous discouraging outcomes that had squelched the practice in the 1990s. With both donor and patient surgeries happening simultaneously, he knew he���d need Tomiyama, a trusted, highly skilled surgical partner, to make the work possible.

To help care for patients before and after a living donor liver transplant, Hernandez has also leaned on the skills of one of his most recent hires, . The Ethiopia-born hepatologist is particularly focused on selecting the right patients for this care: ���Are they fit enough to undergo liver transplant? Is their cancer too aggressive to be treated safely and adequately with transplant?��� He susses out the answers through a range of factors, including a patient���s response to chemotherapy and a series of biomarkers. Addissie���s goal is to prevent a worst-case scenario: a healthy donor who undergoes major surgery for a recipient who dies during or soon after the transplant.

Medical expertise alone will not guarantee a successful transplant. Leaders like Nancy Metzler, executive director of Transplant Services, ensure that the has the resources, systems, and institutional support for one of the most complex areas in healthcare. While the work of Metzler and her team often gets overlooked, it constitutes an indispensable part of the process. A seemingly trivial misstep���the late signing of a consent form, say���can delay or derail the entire process.

What���s more, ensuring that a patient has a confirmed ride home, or that a nurse is available for a full day to field 70 calls from potential donors, is about more than checking boxes. It���s about creating a larger sense of trust that allows a patient to feel truly cared for. While there are four surgeons in the operating room, Metzler notes, ���there are 36 people back here��� who have helped get the patient to that point.

The strength of these visible and behind-the-scenes systems leads to extraordinary outcomes. While only a handful of hospitals nationwide have completed even one successful living donor liver transplant for patients with colon cancer that has spread to the liver, Hernandez and his team have completed 26. Data compiled in 2024 of the first 23 patients who have undergone the procedure show that every single one survived at least one year. Ninety-one percent have survived beyond three years. No other institution has come even close.

Talent magnet

Hernandez is clearly competitive, a mindset he frames around leadership and excellence. ���Everyone remembers the first person who reached the moon. Neil Armstrong. But who was the second? We want to be the first at Rochester,��� he says. ���And we want to be the best.��� Being a leader requires more than just the technical skills and insight of an individual or even of a highly skilled team like the one Hernandez has strategically helped build. It requires systems and institutional structures that can sustain complexity, support high-stakes care, and turn innovation into standard practice.

One example of this broader, amplifying infrastructure: 做厙勛圖���s . It was recently named a National Cancer Institute���designated cancer center, placing it among the top 4 percent of cancer centers nationwide. The designation acts as a magnet for talent. ���It allows us to recruit the best and brightest people from across the country,��� says , director of the institute. ���Under Dr. ���s leadership of our cancer service line, Dr. Hernandez���s colleagues, gastrointestinal experts, pathologists, radiation oncologists, medical oncologists, and many others demonstrate incredible transdisciplinary collaboration, which is an essential characteristic of an NCI-designated center.���

Among many other functions, the institute helps connect specialists across disciplines to support the development of clinical trials and to streamline patient care. The structure enables deep expertise and cross-field collaboration, which in turn allows treatment of complex cancers.

Wilmot also plays a foundational role in research, where advancing a single discovery often requires the expertise of dozens of scientists. For example, under the guidance of Hernandez, fifth-year surgical resident recently authored a about patient selection, insurance approval, and outcomes of living donor liver transplant for those with liver metastases. (The paper includes data from Delaney-Sloper���s procedure.) The 16 authors included 15 from the Medical Center, in areas ranging from surgery to pharmacy. All had links to the Wilmot Cancer Institute.

Beyond the Medical Center, Hernandez can tap into the full depth and breadth of 做厙勛圖���s research expertise, which goes well beyond traditional boundaries of medicine. That might mean partnering with an engineer interested in robotic surgery or a biologist studying tissue regeneration���insights that could further advance his work.

Hernandez believes that it may be possible to double or even triple 做厙勛圖���s current rate of these highly specialized procedures, currently about 10 per year. He imagines a future 做厙勛圖 that���s synonymous not just with living donor liver transplants but with other innovative liver surgeries as well.

Still, the goal is not innovation for its own sake. It���s about what that innovation makes possible. For Delaney-Sloper, innovation has meant extra years with her husband and her daughters (now 12, 14, and 16). It has meant more experiences and more milestones. And it has meant a profound connection with her younger brother, who gave her the liver that saved her life.

When she talks about the experience at 做厙勛圖, she describes it as both ���a warm hug��� and ���a well-oiled machine.��� The phrases might seem at odds with each other. Yet together they capture what made her care extraordinary: the kindness and skill of the individuals who provided it, and the precision and power of the system behind them. ���I went there for a reason,��� she says on a Zoom call a day before she and her family left for a vacation to Zion National Park.

���And I���m still here.���

When a new drug or device for a brain or nerve disorder reaches patients, there���s a good chance a 做厙勛圖 team helped it get there. For nearly 40 years, the 做厙勛圖���s (CHeT) has been a behind-the-scenes force in neurological drug discovery. That work has resulted in helping to bring 12 FDA-approved drugs and devices to market, including frontline treatments for Parkinson���s, Huntington���s, and rare neuromuscular diseases.

What makes CHeT stand out is its all-in-one model. Trial coordination, clinical materials, outcomes measurement, data analytics, and regulatory support all operate in concert, allowing the center to design and run complex, multisite trials that many organizations consider too risky or too complicated.

Today, under the leadership of neurologist , CHeT is expanding that impact by pairing patient-reported outcomes with wearable sensors, smartphone apps, and decentralized study visits. The goal: to ���measure what matters to patients��� and make it easier for people everywhere���not just those who live near major academic medical centers���to participate in cutting-edge research.

Get the , from brain���computer interfaces to AI-powered trial modeling.