Free Freezing People is (Not) Easy by Bob Nelson, Kenneth Bly, PhD Sally Magaña

it shouldn’t. Through his approval, Ettinger decided that CSC would freeze the first human being.
    The next morning I sat on the sofa in Prehoda’s parlor, thinking about questions and strategies for the meeting. Dr. Dante Brunol had arrived; he was a biophysicist working on a perfusion procedure—a step-by-step guide for preserving a human being. I felt his presence lent much-needed medical credibility as well as another friendly opinion on human freezing.
    Soon after Brunol, Norman Bedford rang the doorbell. He was about thirty, with a beard and close-cropped dark hair, but the intensity on his face was almost scary. Since his father was dying and he was exploring quite an exotic option, I was sure that exacerbated his high-strung personality. I began by asking Norman about his expectations.
    Flush-faced and frenetic, Norman fired out questions: “My father wants to be frozen and that’s it. Can we do it? What needs to be done?” He wagged his finger in my face. “My father is near death, and I don’t have time to deal with anyone who’s going to drag their feet.”
    I tried to ease Norman’s fears; the man’s hands just would not stop twitching. “You’re talking to the right people. Your father will be the first case, but CSC has invested a lot of research into cryonics; we’re prepared to do it right.”
    He seemed to relax a little. He said his father had read Professor Ettinger’s book, discussed longevity in his classes, and determined to be frozen when he died.
    I decided to plunge further: “We need your father’s written authorization before we can do anything.”
    â€œThat won’t be a problem, considering it was his idea anyway.”
    Then there was the necessary funding to provide for all the supplies. I launched into a long list of chemicals and equipment necessary to complete the procedure, along with a temporary dry-ice storage container for the patient and, finally, a second container for the patient, to be filled with liquid nitrogen for the duration of the suspension. There was also the problem of where the liquid nitrogen container would be stored.
    Norman had been writing all this down, his hand flying across his notebook. He leaned in to speak, his nose about four inches from mine. “Can the society provide all those requirements? If you can’t, then I’ll find someone who’ll get what you can’t.”
    â€œI believe we can,” I replied, using my soothing fatherly voice. “But we’ll need a cooperating doctor at the moment of death.”
    â€œJust give me whatever papers you need and my dad will sign them,” Norman responded. “As for money, my father has three hundred thousand dollars in a foundation for cryobiological research, and I am director of that foundation. Will that be enough to cover the expenses of my father’s freezing?”
    Robert’s eyes widened, and a slight smile appeared; that much money definitely got his attention. I requested that Norman allow a private moment among my colleagues.
    We excused ourselves into the kitchen, and I asked Dr. Brunol, “What do you think?”
    He almost jumped into my arms while replying “Yes.” I smiled and then looked at Robert, suggesting that he could act as an advisor. I could see he was anxious to perform the suspension. I reminded him that we’d lose our scientific advisory council.
    â€œWell,” Robert shrugged, thinking about the ramifications, “perhaps for just a little while.”
    I could not believe our luck. Not only had we secured Robert’s support, but he had agreed to help organize the actual freezing. I was giddy; here was the action I so craved, and I felt absolutely confident that I could engineer this procedure.
    I spent the next several days constructing the dry-ice box, coordinating people’s schedules, and purchasing syringes and the chemicals with the proper