Suspended from a tree in the wilds of Tennessee, the remains of his hang-glider entangled in the branches above, his lower left leg pulverised and his chest badly bruised from his dramatic fall into the forest canopy, Alan Mackay-Sim felt hyper-alert from the electricity of adrenalin, the clarity of shock. Only the wind was audible, softly rustling the branches around him as he sucked in the forest air, perfumed with poplar and sweet-gum.

Knowing that the adrenalin coursing through his veins would soon give way to an agonising and possibly debilitating pain, the 28-year-old used these precious minutes to assess his predicament, to figure it out coolly like a man of science.

A broken leg, no doubt shattered in multiple places. Possibly hours before his fellow hang-gliding friends would be able to locate him; if they didn't reach him by nightfall, he could be dangling here until the next morning. Unfastening his harness and climbing down to the ground five metres below was not an option, at least, not without incurring further injury. To prevent blood from pooling and to save his leg, he quickly concluded, he'd have to carefully oh-so carefully free the hang-glider's stirrup bar and one of the ropes from his harness, create a splint for his injured left leg, secure it to his right leg and hoist up both limbs while hanging there like a gammy fruit bat.

Mackay-Sim had only arrived in the US a few weeks before, a post-doctoral researcher from the University of Sydney eager to extend his studies into the olfactory system specifically, what the nose tells the brain at the University of Philadelphia. But on that blustery October day back in 1979, when a freak wind gust whooshing around Lookout Mountain near Chattanooga sent a promising young Australian scientist nosediving into the forest, before a rescue team found himhanging in the tree just before sunset, both legs securely elevated, Mackay-Sim was set to gain some useful insights that would become valuable to him in his later life. Insights that would be peculiarly relevant to his work as a pioneering stem cell researcher specialising in the treatment of spinal cord injuries.

So badly broken was his leg that Mackay-Sim spent more than six months in a wheelchair, and many more months afterwards receiving intensive physiotherapy.

"It gave me some insight into what life's like in a wheelchair, and it stayed with me," says Mackay-Sim, settling into a chair in his office at the Institute for Drug Discovery at Griffith University, just down the corridor from the laboratory where he spent years toiling over petri dishes of nasal stem cells, in his life's mission to treat spinal injuries, hereditary spastic paraplegia and diseases like Parkinson's.

A photo of the late actor Christopher Reeve is pinned on a noticeboard behind him. "I met Christopher in 2003 when he came out for a conference; he was interested in our clinical trials," Mackay-Sim says, looking at the photo. "Then in the following year I spent some time at his home in New York, and we talked a lot about spinal cord injury repair, and his own personal story."

As Mackay-Sim explains, the higher up the spinal cord an injury is, the more severe the effects. "As we know, Christopher fell off a horse and became a full paraplegic on a respirator, but in fact he suffered only a small injury; the problem was that the bleed went straight into his spinal cord. It only takes a very small injury to stop transmission; you can have large injuries to the chest and not suffer long-term repercussions but here, in the neck, a small event can change your life."

Back in the late 1980s, after he started at Griffith University, Mackay-Sim became interested in a set of extraordinary busy-bee cells in the human nose called olfactory ensheathing cells nerve cells that regenerate every single day to recreate our sense of smell. If these wonder cells are continually regenerating, he kept asking himself, could they not be transplanted to another part of the body where cells don't regenerate, like the spinal cord?

Years of scientific slog followed until 2002, when Mackay-Sim was the first researcher in the world to remove cells from the nose of a patient paralysed in a car accident, grow them in a cell culture and then, with the help of surgeons at Brisbane's Princess Alexandra Hospital, implant them in the same patient's spinal cord. "By the time Christopher died in 2006, we'd transferred stem cells from the nose into three patients and shown it was safe to do so," he says. "One of the patients recovered some sensation above the injury, which was hopeful, but one person does not make real scientific evidence."

For Mackay-Sim, the importance of scientific breakthroughs in the treatment of life-threatening illnesses is deeply personal. In 2014, he was diagnosed with multiple myeloma, an incurable form of leukaemia. As a result of the illness, which breaks down bones in an advanced form of osteoporosis, and the punishing series of treatments that followed his diagnosis, involving radiation, chemotherapy and stem cell therapy (albeit a very different form from the one the scientist was researching), Mackay-Sim lost nine centimetres in height and shed more than 15 kilograms of body weight. "I became extremely sick from the chemotherapy just prior to the bone marrow transplant," the 65-year-old recalls. "It was the worst experience of my life."

There was also the initial shock of the diagnosis, and grief for the loss of his health after a highly active life, from football and rowing in his teens to distance cycling, scuba diving and hang-gliding, which he took up while atuniversity. "Both my parents lived into their 80s and 90s and I'd been cycling up to 200 kilometres a week for decades, so I wasn't anticipating something like this."

Still, as a scientist he couldn't help but observe the trajectory of his illness with stricken fascination. "I had some good conversations with my oncologist," he smiles. "As a biologist examining my own biology, it did demystify lots of things. One minute I was a grieving patient, the next an interested scientist."

Above all, Mackay-Sim refuses to sentimentalise his battle with the illness and asks that I don't embroider it in this story by turning it into some kind of triumph of personal will power over disease. "My survival is determined by the vagaries of the particular cancer I've got," he says matter-of-factly. "Some people have nasty genetic diseases that mean they die earlier. For the moment, I feel very healthy."

Surely his extreme fitness at least helped him to survive the ravages of chemo? "I think being fit and active all my life has given me a higher quality of life after treatment," he acknowledges. "But one doctor put it to me that I probably would have sought out treatment earlier if I wasn't so fit, because I dismissed the symptoms as simple back pain from the cycling. It took two years after the chemo and radiation for the pain to go away. 2016 was a year of normality for me my back became stable enough for me to get on a road bike again."

The diagnosis added poignancy to the evening in Canberra in late January when Mackay-Sim, out of 3000- plus nominations, was crowned Australian of the Year. Sitting alongside him were his American-born wife of nearly 34 years, Lisa Peine, a retired primary school teacher, their 28-year-old daughter Matilda, a trainee psychiatrist, and 25-year-old son Callum, an engineer.

Mackay-Sim with wife Lisa Peine in North Queensland in 1983. Photo: Courtesy of Alan Mackay-Sim

Perhaps no Australian of the Year is better placed to recognise just how precious a year can be, and more determined to seize the moment to put science and innovation at the top of the national conversation. A former Queenslander of the Year, Mackay-Sim sees science as vital to our future national wellbeing, especially after the recent wake-up call in international school education rankings, which placed Australia behind Kazakhstan and Slovenia in maths and science.

Mackay-Sim agrees unequivocally with Michelle Simmons, professor of quantum physics at the University of NSW, who drew headlines recently when she declared that the "feminised" nature of Australia's high school physics curriculum (emphasising the sociology of science with essays and theory instead of rigorous lab experiments and mathematical problem-solving) had been an unmitigated failure. Introduced in the 1980s, the approach had resulted in a long, slow decline in standards.

"Scientific understanding comes from learning the processes; it can be hard work but is absolutely essential," Mackay-Sim insists. "The key to a good science education in schools is to get well-trained teachers." (Mackay-Sim has been deeply encouraged by some of the science teachers he's met since winning the award.)

The choice of Mackay-Sim the first scientist honoured as Australian of the Year since immunologist Ian Frazer in 2006 was met with near-universal applause by Australia's scientific community, who no doubt feel dispirited in this post-truth world of climate-change denial, cuts to the CSIRO and the growing view by government agencies that basic research isn't worth it.

"We need to invest in young scientists," Mackay-Sim declared in his acceptance speech, adding that the discovery of new medical treatments can reduce the strain on health budgets. "More than 10,000 Australians live with a spinal cord injury a new person is added to this tally every day." But politicians need to take a long-term view of the benefits of basic research, he tells me, "a view much longer than the political horizon".

The announcement also gave the image of the Australian of the Year awards a much-needed polish. The 2016 winner, Lieutenant-General David Morrison, drew criticism for charging up to $15,000 a pop forpublic speaking engagements, as well as grandstanding about sexism in the military despite his own handling of the army's "Jedi Council" sex scandal, in which demeaning sex videos of women were distributed among a group of soldiers. (It was revealed that Morrison's office knew of the scandal 11 months prior to the former Chief of Army releasing a now-famous condemnation on YouTube of those involved.)

Will Mackay-Sim accept speakers' fees? "I knew nothing about speakers' fees when I accepted the award," he says crisply. "I'm not pursuing money after all, I've spent my life doing public research."

Although he hasn't received any fees to date, Mackay-Sim insists that if they are offered, the funds will be donated to the Hereditary Spastic Paraplegia Research Foundation, his charity of choice.

Mackay-Sim only had a day or so to bask in the glow of being named Australian of the Year before there was a claim his scientific achievements had beenoverstated in the application. A Polish scientist, Professor Pawel Tabakow, after being approached by an Australian journalist in Europe, declared that Mackay-Sim had nothing to do with the world-first surgery using olfactory stem cells that enabled a Polish paraplegic, Darek Fidyka, to walk again. "It is not our business who should be Australian of the Year," Tabakow told The Weekend Australian. "But it is our business when his work is being linked to the surgery of Fidyka. He has no link whatsoever."

The scientific hullaballoo arose from the submission to the Australia Day Council (ADC), which states that Mackay-Sim's research "helped play a central role in proving the safety of science that was a precursor to Dr Tabokow in Poland undertaking the first successful restoration of mobility in a quadriplegic man".

Although Mackay-Sim didn't write the submission to the ADC, doesn't know who did, and never claimed to be involved in Tabokow's work, an artificial straight line was drawn between the two scientists, especially when the word "precursor" was dropped from condensed versions of the ADC's quote in multiple news stories (we'll examine the fallout from the controversy a little later).

Padding amiably about his large, multi-room laboratory, past refrigerator-sized storage cabinets containing cell cultures, past white-coated scientists peering into microscopes, Mackay-Sim seems to be in his element, with every second person saying "Hi", "Hello", or "How are you?" If stem cells are indeedthe microscopic building blocks of the world, this is the tiny universe the scientist feels most comfortable in. But it's a laboratory that now has to hum along without him Mackay-Sim retired late last year, his duties now limited to popping into the university once a week as an emeritus professor.

Later in the day, Professor George D. Mellick, head of Clinical Neurosciences at Griffith, tells me that Mackay-Sim has always set aside time to mentor younger scientists, and to explain sometimes hideously complicated science to a lay audience, but would be the last person to crow about his own scientific achievements.

"One of the things that isn't highlighted very much about Alan's work is his research into Parkinson's. We've been able to learn a lot about Parkinson's by studying cells from people with the disease, and the information coming out of this research will hopefully lead to better treatments."

Back in his office, Mackay-Sim gives me a quick rundown, 101-style, on the human nose. No, the human sense of smell doesn't necessarily decline with age, unless illness or disease set in, and it is astonishingly adept at distinguishing hundreds of thousands of different odours. Yes, women do have a superior sense of smell to men, but the difference is surprisingly only slight. Yes, the first symptom of Parkinson's, before the typical tremors set in, is a reduced sense of smell, as it is with those sufferers who will go on to develop dementia. And yes paws down dogs do have a vastly more powerful sense of smell than humans, although it's impossible to quantify by exactly how much (Mackay-Sim has been known to hide from his spoodle Henry, to measure how long it takes for the dog to find him).

As he relays all this, Mackay-Sim's eyes twinkle and a smile lights up his face: it's easy to see how he'd be the perfect academic for Griffith to call on to schmooze a government minister or potential philanthropist and secure desperately sought-after funding. I ask him about his trademark moustache, which he's had since the early 1990s, when he shaved off a beard. "My wife wouldn't recognise me without it," he jokes. "She says that a small mammal could roost beneath my mouth."

Mackay-Sim, whose double-barrelled surname comes from his paternal grandfather, grew up in middle-class Roseville, on Sydney's leafy North Shore, the third of four brothers. His mother Lois was a nurse during World War II and later a full-time mum while his father Malcolm ran a hardware importing and distributing business, Macsim Distributors (now Macsim Fasteners, owned by Alan's eldest brother, Fraser). At North Sydney Boys' High he was "the opposite of a shit-stirrer. I was vice captain, head of the cadets, played football, was in the rowing team, had a shot at athletics, sang in the choir I did it all."

With wife, Lisa Peine, in Sulawesi, Indonesia, 2007. Photo: Courtesy of Alan Mackay-Sim

After graduating with honours in science from Macquarie University, Mackay-Sim picked up tutoring work in the department of physiology at the University of Sydney, where he completed a PhD on the brain's visual system. Two academic stints in the US followed, first at the University of Pennsylvania from 1979 until 1981, followed by two years at the University of Wyoming, during which time he met his wife Lisa, then living in northern Colorado.

The pair married in 1984, by which time Mackay-Sim had been offered a research role in the department of physiology at the University of Adelaide. He started at Griffith University in 1987, where his research concentrated on the biology of nasal cells.

At the height of the heated moral debate over the use of embryonic stem cells whether the therapeutic potential of stem cells could justify destroying human embryos to extract them Mackay-Sim met Pope Benedict XVI at a Vatican conference in 2005. The Pope congratulated him on his exclusive use of adult stem cells.

"I wasn't avoiding embryonic stem cells for religious reasons," Mackay-Sim explains. "It just so happenedthat I was working with adult stem cells at the time and the conference was looking at alternatives to using embryonic stem cells. But it was a scientific conference and I was impressed with its calibre; the only difference was that men in purple robes were sitting at the back asking questions."

Later in the same trip, Mackay-Sim was invited, along with a host of others, to the Apostolic Palace at Castel Gandolfo the Vatican summer palace. "You feel the history of the Roman Catholic Church, with the Pope coming in with his cardinals and the Swiss Guards," he says. "I'm not a believer, but it was a very powerful experience."

In 2006, the debate over embryonic stem cells virtually vanished when scientist Shinya Yamanaka from Japan's Kyoto University stunned the world by proving that stem cells needn't come from human embryos adult cells can be reprogrammed to act like stem cells, to be returned to an embryo-like state (Yamanaka's discovery won him the Nobel Prize in 2012). "Yamanaka worked out how to genetically engineer any cells so that they had the properties of embryonic stem cells," says Mackay-Sim, who nonetheless continued to focus on adult stem cells only.

Mackay-Sim accomplished his own world first in 2002 when, with the assistance of doctors at Brisbane's Princess Alexandra Hospital, he transplanted olfactory stem cells into the spinal cord of a man crippled in a car accident. The procedure was repeated with two other paraplegic patients at the same hospital and the study wrapped up in 2007.

While the procedures didn't result in any of the patients regaining useful movement in their legs, the results of Mackay-Sim's clinical trials, published in 2005 and 2008, paved the way for further development of olfactory stem cell transplantation.

One researcher who followed Mackay-Sim's trials closely was Geoffrey Raisman from University College London, who visited the Australian team shortly after the first operation in Brisbane to study their work. Raisman later led the British team who worked with Polish surgeon Tabakow on Darek Fidyka in 2012.

Tabakow deployed 100 separate micro-injections of olfactory sheathing cells above and below Fidyka's spinal injury, with the hope these cells would provide a skeleton for nerve fibres to grow and reconnect. A former volunteer firefighter, Fidyka had become paralysed in 2010 after a severe knife attack by the jealous ex-husband of his girlfriend. The repeated stab wounds to Fidyka's back severed his spinal cord, paralysing from the waistdown. (Fidyka's attacker, a fellow firefighter, committed suicide shortly afterwards.)

There's no doubt Tabakow's work was a major advance on Mackay-Sim's research. Tabakow's strategy was to extract ensheathing cells specifically from the olfactory bulbs in Fidyka's nose, grow them in a culture, while also extracting nerve cells from his ankle in a multi-pronged attempt at spinal cord reconstruction. After a series of operations, Fidyka can walk with the assistance of a frame, has regained some bladder control and sexual function, and can ride a tricycle.

Raisman described their new stem cell procedure as "more impressive than man walking on the moon", but it will have be tested on other paraplegics, including those with more severe injuries than Fidyka's, such as car accident victims who have had more of their spinal cord damaged, before it can be declared a reliable method of restoring mobility. As impressive as Tabakow's achievement is, it has still only worked on one patient.

Nobody, however, disputes Mackay-Sim's immense contribution to stem cell transplantation; his work is unimpeachable. If nothing else, he was at the forefront of the science showing that restoring the ability to walk to paraplegics is no longer science fiction. "What I've always said is that we did the first phase of clinicaltrials with olfactory stem cells, and the aim of those trials was to show they were safe," says Mackay-Sim. "That was the first important step."

Mackay-Sim wrote to Tabakow shortly after the controversy blew up, explaining that he didn't write the submission to the Australia Day Council, and was in no way claiming credit for Fidyka's remarkable recovery. "He wrote back a very nice email," says Mackay-Sim. "I believe I've given credit to other scientists in every interview I've given to journalists. I feel comfortable in my behaviour and ethics."

With Prime Minister Turnbull in January this year. Photo: Elesa Kurtz

Mackay-Sim can remember the day when he felt something was wrong terribly wrong. He'd been suffering back pain for months, but dismissed it as old age, or strain from bending over on his bicycle on long rides, and stocked up his pantry with painkillers. "I was in Colorado with Lisa visiting her family, and the pain became so bad I couldn't walk very far. I found the pain eased when I got on my bicycle. I flew home a week before she did; the plane trip back was absolute hell."

What followed was a swift diagnostic journey from his GP to specialists at Brisbane's Wesley Hospital, resulting in a devastating diagnosis. "They suspected something cancerous quite quickly. I didn't realise how ill I was; by this stage, my kidneys weren't coping at all with the antibodies released from my white blood cells, which were going berserk trying to fight the disease. I was at risk of kidney failure and my bones were becoming very fragile. I started therapy almost immediately, in June 2014. Then began the cycles of chemotherapy and stem cell treatment in December."

Since the beginning of last year, however, Mackay-Sim's health has dramatically improved, and even though he's retired to his beachside home in Currimundi on the Sunshine Coast, he is still active in university affairs. He concedes that his health may prevent him from being as active as Rosie Batty, perhaps our most vigorous Australian of the Year to date. But he's already spoken at functions in Brisbane, Sydney and Perth, and will be attending the national March for Science on April 22, which coincides with Earth Day. He moves with the speed and fluidity of a man 10 or 15 years younger.

"I feel very healthy, very energised at the moment," says Mackay-Sim, who is planning a bicycle ride in Italy's Dolomites in July with a couple of mates. (Last year he and his wife went on the Great Victorian Bike Ride, a seven-day ride averaging 85 kilometres a day.)

"I do need to be selective with the number of invitations around Australian of the Year," he concedes, "but I'll do everything I can. After all, what more exciting time could you have to talk about science?"

Continued here:
Australian of the Year Alan Mackay-Sim on the advantage of being 'an interested scientist' - The Sydney Morning Herald