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There were many moments before and during the operation when it looked as though Clark would not see his wife again. He was in the final stages of cardiomyopathy, a progressive deterioration of the heart muscle. Clark's skin appeared blue from lack of oxygen, fluid was collecting in his vital organs, and his ravaged heart could pump only one liter of blood a minute, about one-seventh the normal rate. When Clark's heart started fluttering abnormally a day before the implantation was scheduled, DeVries decided the operation could not wait. His patient, he said, "probably would have been dead by midnight."
The surgery was fraught with danger. Years of cortisone therapy, DeVries pointed out, had made the fabric of Clark's heart so delicate that it tore "like tissue paper" during the operation. When the team, working to a recording of Ravel's Bolero, finally succeeded in replacing the organ with the mechanical device, said DeVries, "it was a spiritual experience for everyone in the room." But the new heart failed to pump properly, and a standby unit had to be substituted. Finally, after 7½ hr., Clark's heart output was normal, he had what was described as "the blood pressure of an 18-year-old," and his bluish skin was beginning to blush pink. Still, DeVries warned, "there are many more hurdles ahead."
Indeed there were, including a 2½-hr. episode of convulsions one week after surgery, gushing nosebleeds a month later and the failure of a valve in the left half of the heart, which necessitated replacement of the entire section. In all, Clark was to make three trips back to surgery to correct various problems. In addition, he suffered spells of confusion for three months after the seizures. During this period he sometimes imagined that he was still practicing dentistry in Seattle; at other times he was lucid enough to complain, "My mind is shot." But Clark improved. By the end of February his confusion had disappeared, and he was able to pedal a stationary bicycle for a few minutes at a time. Only his lungs, weakened by years of poor circulation, slowed his recovery.
Clark was sustained by the work of a remarkable team. DeVries, 39, a lean, 6-ft. 5-in. former high jumper, is refreshingly indifferent to his sudden celebrity. Says he: "You lose credibility if you're too well known." A father of seven, he sleeps only four or five hours a night to make time for his family and the 16-hr, workday he favors. Typically, DeVries was standing vigil at Clark's side when his patient died.
The equally dedicated inventor of the device, Dr. Robert Jarvik, 36, was also present. The son of a doctor, Jarvik designed his first medical invention, a surgical stapler, while still in high school. His interest in the heart was prompted by his father's battle with cardiac disease. A spare-time sculptor, Jarvik was able to combine his artistic and medical interests as a design engineer at Utah's artificial-organ program beginning in 1971; he earned his medical degree there in 1976.