
Scientists are making remarkable progress at using brain implants to restore the freedom of movement that spinal cord injuries take away.
The French neuroscientist was watching a macaque monkey as it
hunched aggressively at one end of a treadmill. His team had used a blade to
slice halfway through the animal’s spinal cord, paralyzing its right leg. Now
Courtine wanted to prove he could get the monkey walking again. To do it, he
and colleagues had installed a recording device beneath its skull, touching its
motor cortex, and sutured a pad of flexible electrodes around the animal’s
spinal cord, below the injury. A wireless connection joined the two electronic
devices.
The result: a system that
read the monkey’s intention to move and then transmitted it immediately in the
form of bursts of electrical stimulation to its spine. Soon enough, the
monkey’s right leg began to move. Extend and flex. Extend and flex. It hobbled
forward. “The monkey was thinking, and then boom, it was walking,” recalls an
exultant Courtine, a professor with Switzerland’s Ecole Polytechnique Federale de Lausanne.
In recent years, lab animals and a few people
have controlled computer cursors or robotic arms with their thoughts, thanks to
a brain implant wired to machines. Now researchers are taking a significant
next step toward reversing paralysis once and for all. They are wirelessly
connecting the brain-reading technology directly to electrical stimulators on
the body, creating what Courtine calls a “neural bypass” so that people’s thoughts
can again move their limbs.
At Case Western Reserve University, in
Cleveland, a middle-aged quadriplegic—he can’t move anything but his head and
shoulder—agreed to let doctors place two recording implants in his brain, of
the same type Courtine used in the monkeys. Made of silicon, and smaller than a
postage stamp, they bristle with a hundred hair-size metal probes that can
“listen” as neurons fire off commands.
To complete the bypass, the
Case team, led by Robert Kirsch and Bolu Ajiboye, also slid more than 16 fine
electrodes into the muscles of the man’s arm and hand. In videos of the
experiment, the volunteer can be seen slowly raising his arm with the help of a
spring-loaded arm rest, and willing his hand to open and close. He even raises
a cup with a straw to his lips. Without the system, he can’t do any of that.
Just try sitting on your hands for a day. That will give you an
idea of the shattering consequences of spinal cord injury. You can’t scratch
your nose or tousle a child’s hair. “But if you have this,” says Courtine,
reaching for a red espresso cup and raising it to his mouth with an actor’s
exaggerated motion, “it changes your life.”
The Case results, pending
publication in a medical journal, are a part of a broader effort to use
implanted electronics to restore various senses and abilities. Besides treating
paralysis, scientists hope to use so-called neural prosthetics to reverse
blindness with chips placed in the eye, and maybe restore memories lost to
Alzheimer’s disease.
And they know it could
work. Consider cochlear implants, which use a microphone to relay signals
directly to the auditory nerve, routing around non-working parts of the inner
ear. Videos of wide-eyed deaf children hearing their mothers for the first time
go viral on the Internet every month. More than 250,000 cases of deafness have
been treated.

But it’s been harder to turn neural prosthetics into something
that helps paralyzed people. A patient first used a brain probe to move a
computer cursor across a screen back in 1998. That and several other
spectacular brain-control feats haven’t had any broader practical use. The
technology remains too radical and too complex to get out of the lab. “Twenty
years of work and nothing in the clinic!” Courtine exclaims, brushing his hair
back. “We keep pushing the limits, but it is an important question if this
entire field will ever have a product.”
Courtine’s laboratory is located in a vertiginous glass and steel
building in Geneva that also houses a $100 million center that the Swiss
billionaire Hansjorg Wyss funded specifically to solve the remaining technical
obstacles to neurotechnologies like the spinal cord bypass. It’s hiring experts
from medical device makers and Swiss watch companies and has outfitted clean
rooms where gold wires are printed onto rubbery electrodes that can stretch as
our bodies do.
The head of the center is John Donoghue, an American who led the
early development of brain implants in the U.S. and who moved to Geneva two
years ago. He is now trying to assemble in one place the enormous technical
resources and talent skilled neuroscientists, technologists, clinicians—needed
to create commercially viable systems.
Among Donoghue’s top
priorities is a “neurocomm,” an ultra-compact wireless device that can collect
data from the brain at Internet speed. “A radio inside your head,” Donoghue
calls it, and “the most sophisticated brain communicator in the world.” The
matchbox-size prototypes are made of biocompatible titanium with a sapphire
window. Courtine used an earlier, bulkier version in his monkey tests.
As complex as they are,
and as slow as progress has been, neural bypasses are worth pursuing because
patients desire them, Donoghue says. “Ask someone if they would like to move
their own arm,” he says. “People would prefer to be restored to their everyday
self. They want to be reanimated.”
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