Dorothy Hansine Andersen: (https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Dorothy_Hansine_Andersen)
They denied her surgical training because she was a woman.
So she went into the basement, studied dead children—and uncovered a disease that had been killing thousands in silence.
New York City, 1935: The basement morgue of Babies Hospital was cold, heavy with the smell of formaldehyde and cigarette smoke. Dorothy Andersen stood over the body of a three-year-old girl, scalpel in hand, eyes sharp with dissatisfaction.
The chart read: Celiac disease.
It was a familiar label. Too familiar.
Children who wasted away. Children who ate constantly but starved anyway. Doctors prescribed banana diets and hope. Most of the children died.
But Andersen had seen too much to accept that answer.
These children weren’t dying like classic celiac patients. Their bellies were swollen, their limbs skeletal—and their lungs were always clogged with thick, glue-like mucus. Celiac disease didn’t do that. Not ever.
So Andersen lit another cigarette and cut deeper.
Dorothy Andersen had been underestimated from the beginning.
Brilliant, driven, and ambitious, she had applied for surgical residency after medical school—only to be turned away. Not because she lacked skill, but because she was a woman.
Surgery was for men.
Women, she was told, could study pathology. They could study the dead.
So Andersen became a pathologist.
She wore hiking boots instead of heels. Built her own furniture. Smoked through autopsies without apology. She took up space in a profession that didn’t want her - and once relegated to the basement, she decided she would not waste the position.
If she had to study death, she would do it until it saved lives.
Inside the child’s abdomen, Andersen found the pancreas - and froze.
It was wrong: instead of healthy tissue, the organ was hard, scarred, riddled with cysts. The ducts that should have released digestive enzymes were completely blocked. The child hadn’t starved because she couldn’t eat.
She had starved because her body couldn’t digest anything.
This wasn’t celiac disease.
This was something else.
Andersen pulled nearly fifty autopsy files labeled “celiac disease” and worked through them methodically. Night after night, she compared lungs, pancreases, intestines. The same pattern appeared again and again: destroyed pancreatic tissue, thick mucus, malnutrition despite constant feeding.
The disease had been hiding in plain sight.
She named it Cystic Fibrosis of the pancreas.
But identifying the killer wasn’t enough. These children were dying on pediatric wards across the country. Andersen needed a way to diagnose them before they reached her autopsy table.
So she created one.
She developed a test to measure pancreatic enzymes by extracting fluid from the small intestine—an invasive, difficult procedure, but revolutionary. For the first time, doctors could distinguish cystic fibrosis from celiac disease while children were still alive.
Then came the summer of 1948: During a brutal heatwave, Andersen noticed something alarming: her cystic fibrosis patients were collapsing from dehydration far more often than other children. Along with colleague Paul di Sant'Agnese, she discovered the reason - CF patients lost extraordinary amounts of salt in their sweat.
That insight led to the sweat test, a simple diagnostic tool still used worldwide today.
In 1938, Andersen published her landmark paper, “Cystic Fibrosis of the Pancreas and Its Relation to Celiac Disease.”
Pediatric medicine changed overnight.
She didn’t just identify a disease; she:
Defined its pathology
Created diagnostic criteria
Developed testing methods
Enabled enzyme therapies that allowed children to absorb nutrients.
Dr. Dorothy Hansine Andersen.
In the 1930s, most children with cystic fibrosis died before age three. Today, many live into their 40s, 50s, and beyond.
Dorothy Andersen never softened herself to fit the system. She climbed mountains. Taught surgeons using hearts she’d studied in the morgue.
She never married - she never apologized.
When she died in 1963, a colleague wrote that her devotion to medicine was “complete.”
But her true legacy is simpler - and far more radical.
When medicine shrugged and said, “Some children just die,” Andersen said: find the real reason.
When textbooks were wrong, she trusted her eyes.
When denied the career she wanted, she created a different one - and changed medicine from the basement.
What Is Cystic Fibrosis? https://asthma.net/clinical/cystic-fibrosis
She was told women couldn’t be surgeons.
So she saved lives another way.
And thousands of children lived because she refused to accept a wastebasket diagnosis.