Novartis loses landmark patent case in India

India’s Supreme Court dealt a significant blow to Western drugs firms on Monday when it rejected an application by the Swiss pharmaceutical company Novartis to patent an anti-cancer drug.

Until recently patent and intellectual property disputes have been limited to HIV drugs as campaigners have accused Western firms of profiteering while poor patients in developing countries die. The Novartis ruling however marks a widening of the conflict to other proprietory drugs. Photo: Alamy

By Dean Nelson, in New Delhi

1:51PM BST 01 Apr 2013

22 Comments

The company said the decision raised serious, wider implications for the industry and reflected India’s ‘growing non-recognition’ of intellectual property.

Its ruling, however, was hailed by campaigners and Indian pharmaceutical firms as a victory for the country’s poor who cannot afford expensive Western medicines. Indian drug firms sell generic versions of Western drugs for up to one tenth of the price.

India’s trade minister Anand Sharma yesterday hailed the decision as an “historic judgment” which reinforced Indian laws preventing companies from extending patent protection unfairly by minor tweaks to their products, a process known in India as ‘ever-greening. Y.K Hamied, chairman of Cipla, one of India’s largest generic drugs companies, said the ruling will “pave the way for affordable medicines in India.”

Novartis however yesterday warned the ruling will discourage expensive investment in new drug treatments. The decision “provides clarification on Indian patent law and discourages innovative drug discovery essential to advancing medical science for patient," it said in a statement.

“The primary concern of this case was with India's growing non-recognition of intellectual property rights that sustain research and development for innovative medicines. As a leader in both innovative and generic medicines, Novartis strongly supports the contribution of generics to improving public health once drug patents expire,” it added.

The company had applied for a patent for a new tablet version of its anti-cancer drug Glivec, which had taken years to develop, it said. The Supreme Court however ruled that the tablet did not amount to an advance sufficient to merit a patent. Around 16,000 Indian cancer patients use Novartis' Glivec - 95 per cent free of charge, the company said, while an estimated 300,000 use cheaper Indfan versions.

Until recently patent and intellectual property disputes have been limited to HIV drugs as campaigners have accused Western firms of profiteering while poor patients in developing countries die.

The Novartis ruling however marks a widening of the conflict to other proprietory drugs. Merck, the US-based drugs company is facing a dispute with the Indian pharmaceutical firm Glenmark which has launched a generic version of its diabetes drug Januvia which is almost a third cheaper.

“It's all about interpretation of section 3(d) of the Indian Patent Act,” said Ran Chakrabarti, a commercial lawyer based in New Delhi.

“Essentially, it says that you can't tweak something that already exists and then patent it, if it doesn't enhance the known efficacy of that thing, or result in a new product. No doubt lawyers will have spent a lot of time pouring over the meaning of 'enhance', 'efficacy' and 'new product', but it looks as if the Supreme Court has ruled that this is old wine in a new bottle.

"Drug companies are going to have to come up with something pretty unique to get patent protection, and while that's good news for consumers, it pushes the threshold for innovation northwards,” he added.

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A Just Order

Editorial in The Hindu

The Supreme Court order rejecting a plea to grant patent protection for Glivec, a cancer-fighting drug from Novartis, is a landmark. It will greatly strengthen the quest for access to affordable medicines in India. The decision affirms the idea that a patent regime loses its social relevance when a drug is priced beyond the reach of the vast majority of a country’s people. That pharmaceutical companies employ high pricing to limit the number of beneficiaries of “blockbuster” patented molecules and even older “evergreened” medicines is an irony, because making additional copies of a drug is not expensive. On the other hand, cost control and dispensing of essential medications in government-run health facilities is affected, because many States have no centralised procurement system. It is unsurprising, therefore, that less than 10 per cent of medicines sold in India are under patent, while the vast majority are branded generics. The court order should prompt producers of patented drugs to move towards liberal licensing and low cost manufacture in India, the pharmacy of the South that produces Rs.100,000 crore worth of medicines annually and sells nearly two thirds within the country. It is a matter of concern that at least a dozen pharmaceutical innovations used in the treatment of cancer, HIV/AIDS, and Hepatitis B and C are not affordable to even the upper middle classes, and impossible to access for the poor.

It would be a gross distortion to paint the Glivec order, which follows the compulsory licensing of Bayer’s drug Nexavar, as an innovation killer. There is evidence to show that major pharma companies recover more than the cost of innovation of a drug in a single year from the United States market alone. Moreover, the costing done by industry has come in for criticism from scientists and policymakers on the grounds that the bloated, irrelevant investments of recent decades are used as the baseline to make calculations. It should not, as the industry claims, cost a billion dollars (and take a dozen years) to produce a new drug; the informed estimate is a third of that figure. The contested field of drug discovery now calls for greater scrutiny of costs and therapeutic value, and control of prices through various legal avenues available under the Indian Patents Act and the Trade-Related Aspects of Intellectual Property Rights as confirmed by the Doha Declaration. It would naturally strengthen the case for grant of patents and consensus pricing, if the industry opens its books for verification. Until the golden mean is reached, governments with vast populations that are denied access to medicines due to economic reasons can justifiably use unilateral price control mechanisms.

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Calling big pharma’s bluff

 e

DWIJEN RANGNEKAR in the hindu

   

 

The lesson from the Supreme Court ruling on Gleevec is that pharmaceutical multinational corporations need to focus research on genuine innovations rather than on ways to evergreen their patents

The much awaited Supreme Court judgment on Gleevec has been delivered. Novartis has failed in reversing the rejection of its patent. And, predictably — like a scratched record — there have been suggestions that pharma investments in India will dry up and take flight to China. At each twist of this case, Novartis has produced such bluster. We need to pay attention to the judgment as it is a nuanced handling of difficult questions concerning a hastily drafted section — Section 3(d) of the Indian Patents Act, which allows new forms of existing drug formulations to be patented only if they result in increased efficacy. The judgment adopts a gentle caution in parsing out Section 3(d); yet, it is firm in reading 3(d) as a “second tier of qualifying standards” for patentability. Further, the judgment also stands out by reprimanding the “artful drafting” of patent applications adopted by big pharma.

CHRONOLOGY

To begin, it is useful to draw out some of the chronology concerning Gleevec that the judgment reveals. The story of the patent begins with Jurg Zimmerman’s invention of derivatives of N-phenyl-2- pyrimidine-amine, one of which in freebase form was called “Imatinib,” and together constituted a U.S. patent application (no. 5,521,184) granted on May 28, 1996 (which, the judgment terms “the Zimmermann Patent”). Subsequently, a European patent was also acquired. Later, a patent application was filed for the beta crystalline form of Imatinib Mesylate (the subject in dispute) in January 2000. Initially rejected, the patent was awarded in May 2005 following Novartis’s appeal to a U.S. appellate court. What is interesting is that the filings for new drug approval, submitted in April 1998, was for Gleevec, and a filing for original drug approval in February 2001 was for Imatinib Mesylate. Confusing as this may seem, the judgment highlights this to establish that Imatinib Mesylate was covered by the Zimmerman patent and that Gleevec was its market name. Any remaining doubt, the judgment notes, is extinguished by the application for patent term extension: “This application leaves no room for doubt that Imatinib Mesylate, marketed under the name Gleevec, was submitted for drug approval as covered by the Zimmermann patent.”

CONTEXT

One of the useful aspects of the judgment is in distilling the significance of “context” in giving meaning to statute. Early on, it notes that to understand the import of the various amendments introduced in the third amendment to the Patent Act, 1970 — to come into full compliance with TRIPS — it is “necessary to find out the concerns of Parliament … What was the mischief Parliament wanted to check and what were the objects it intended to achieve through these amendments?” In this respect, the judgment recalls not only the heated Parliamentary debate, but also the concerns of public health practitioners the world over, and of public statements and petitions from U.N. agencies and civil society organisations. With India being the leading global supplier of bulk drugs, formulations and generic Antiretrovirals (ARV), the global concerns layered domestic worries about affordability of drugs.

Evidence in a widely cited study by the National Institute of Health Care Management, Changing Patterns of Pharmaceutical Innovation, is telling. Between 1989 and 2000, the U.S. Food and Drug Authority approved 1,035 new drug applications — of these, 65 per cent contained active ingredients that were already on the market (i.e. incrementally modified drugs), 11 per cent were identical and only 15 per cent were considered a “highly innovative drug.” Mischief like this results in a patent thicket around a single molecule to delay generic entry which Section 3(d) seeks to avoid. Consequently, the Supreme Court heralds Section 3(d) as a “second tier of qualifying standards for chemical substances/pharmaceutical products in order to leave the door open for true and genuine inventions but, at the same time, to check any attempt at repetitive patenting or extension of the patent term on spurious grounds.”

The significance of this rendering of Section 3(d) is borne out in the Supreme Court’s mix of caution in parsing out the section and firm pronouncements on patent drafting. Section 3(d) states, the mere discovery of a new form of a known substance which does not result in the enhancement of the known efficacy of that substance or the mere discovery of any new property or new use for a known substance or of the mere use of a known process, machine or apparatus unless such process results in a new product or employs at least one new reactant.

And, has the following explanation appended: For the purposes of this clause, salts, esters, ethers, polymorphs, metabolites, pure form, particle size, isomers, mixtures of isomers, complexes, combinations and other derivatives of known substance shall be considered to be the same substance, unless they differ significantly in properties with regard to efficacy.

MADRAS HC READING

Recall that the Madras High Court’s reading that efficacy is a pharmacological idea associated with the ability of a drug to produce a desired therapeutic effect independent of potency, i.e. “healing of disease.” And, the Intellectual Property Appellate Board (IPAB) had noted with respect to enhanced efficacy that “it is not possible to quantify this term by any general formula” and that an assessment would “vary from case to case.” In revisiting these readings, the Supreme Court also had the views of Shamnad Basheer (as an intervenor-cum-amicus) and Anand Grover (Counsel for Cancer Patients Aid Association). The latter had argued for a strict reading of 3(d) which would see efficacy entirely in pharmacological terms. While Basheer agreed that all advantageous properties may not qualify under 3(d), he held that increased safety and reduced toxicity should be seen favourably. Even as the Supreme Court recalls the concerns that author 3(d) — thus, urging a “strict and narrow reading” for medicines — it prefers to delay definitive pronouncement and allow for jurisprudence to develop on this matter. Yet, it is firm in noting that enhancements in the “physical properties” of a product would render a patent application foul of 3(d).

It is here that the evidence — either in the patent applications or submitted later through affidavits to Controller were found wanting in establishing enhanced efficacy. Take for instance the “Massimini” affidavit, filed before the Controller and directed at 3(d), where two points emanate. First, that the beta crystalline form of Imatinib Mesylate is highly soluble, and second that it demonstrates a number of improved physical properties (e.g. flow properties, thermodynamic stability). Yet, in probing, it becomes clear that the comparison is to Imatinib — and not Imatinib Mesylate, where the latter is the “known substance” in terms of 3(d). Which leaves the issue of increased bioavailability — and here the court finds “there is absolutely nothing on this score apart from the adroit submissions of the counsel” and dismisses the argument.

ON DRAFTING

A final aspect of the judgment that needs highlighting is the pronouncement concerning drafting. The careful interrogation of the sequence of events leading to the patent application for the beta crystalline form of Imatinib Mesylate opened up gaping holes in the claims made by Novartis. These included that Gleevec was “‘disclosed” in the Zimmerman patent and this point is also implied by Novartis’s legal notice to NATCO in the U.K. to stop production of its generic version, VEENAT. In response, Novartis argued that even while Gleevec could be claimed by the Zimmerman patent, it was not fully disclosed in an enabling manner. Thus, seeking to differentiate between claims and disclosure. This wonderful legalese was eloquently rejected by the Supreme Court; both, in terms of U.S. legal history that was cited and in terms of the argument’s merits. And it’s useful to quote at length: “We certainly do not wish the law of patent in this country to develop on lines where there may be a vast gap between the coverage and the disclosure under the patent; where the scope of the patent is determined not on the intrinsic worth of the invention but by the artful drafting of its claims by skilful lawyers, and where patents are traded as a commodity not for production and marketing of the patented products but to search for someone who may be sued for infringement of the patent.”

LAPSES

Looking back over the last several years, it is useful to recall the several lapses committed by Novartis. It failed to heed petitions by health groups and civil society to drop the case. For that matter it failed to also heed the wisdom of its own shareholders who urged it to withdraw the challenge. And at the Supreme Court along with losing the case, we also find that the Gleevec patent application “appears to be a loosely assembled, cut-and-paste job, drawing heavily upon the Zimmermann patent.”

The judgment should be well noted and celebrated. It recalls the context of 3(d) and reminds us of the matters of concern that punctuated its crafting. While the section may have been hastily drafted and insufficiently specified, it has the elements to withstand ever-greening. Pharma companies will always be rewarded for their inventive work and effort — and by drawing in a secondary qualifier, they will have to focus their efforts on genuine inventions rather than overlapping patents.

(Dwijen Rangnekar is Associate Professor of Law at the University of Warwick, U.K. E-mail: d.rangnekar@warwick.ac.uk)

Metformin can help reduce cancer prospects!

Diabetes pill beats cancer...and costs just 2p a day

A DIABETES pill that costs just 2p a day could prevent thousands dying from Britain’s biggest cancer killers every year.

By: Jo Willey in The Express

Published: Sat, March 16, 2013

  

Metformin is already taken by millions of diabetes patients

The drug, already taken by millions of patients to control blood sugar levels, is thought to be capable of starving some cancer cells to death.

New research suggests it can slash the risk of developing liver cancer by an astonishing 78 per cent, breast cancer by a third, pancreatic cancer by 46 per cent and bowel cancer by nearly a quarter.

Together, these are the biggest cancer killers – and among the hardest to treat. They claim the lives of 39,336 people each year – a quarter of all UK cancer deaths.

The discovery raises the possibility that the drug – metformin – could be a potent weapon in the battle to find a cure for cancer. Scientists think the drug could prove to be cancer’s Achilles’ heel.

It works by reducing the amount of glucose – which feeds cancer cells – being produced. It helps cells mop up sugar circulating in the bloodstream, cutting off cancer’s energy supply.

Metformin has been safely used by millions of people with Type 2 diabetes for more than 50 years.

Now, researchers from the Department of Epidemiology and Health Statistics at Shandong University in China, have analysed 37 studies involving more than 1.5 million people. 

They found that diabetes patients who took metformin were far less likely to get cancer.

And even if they did get the disease, they were less likely to die from it.

They concluded: “Metformin can reduce the incidence of overall cancer, liver cancer, pancreatic cancer, colorectal cancer and breast cancer as well as the mortality of overall cancer, liver cancer and breast cancer.”

The researchers found no such benefit for men suffering from prostate cancer.

If the Chinese researchers are right the drug could be marketed for cancer treatment far more quickly than a newly discovered drug because it is already prescribed widely without ill-effects.

Previous studies have also shown metformin to be a powerful cancer buster, apparently seeking out an destroying the deadly cells which give birth to tumours and fuel their spread.

Recent studies highlighting the drug’s effects against a variety of tumours have generated considerable excitement among cancer researchers looking for powerful new treatments.

In 2011, scientists discovered it could slash the risk of ovarian cancer by around 40 per cent.

And Cancer Research UK is funding a major five-year study, involving nearly 5,000 British women with breast cancer, to see if the drug can stop the disease returning and boost survival rates.

Other research teams around the world are investigating metformin’s powers against skin, lung and pancreatic cancer – with promising early results.

New research suggests metformin could be a powerful weapon against cancer

Dr Martine Bomb, Cancer Research UK’s health information manager, said: “Some evidence analysed in this review shows that metformin may be able to lower diabetic people’s risk of developing and dying from some cancers.

“But other studies show metformin’s effect could be less powerful. Clinical trials are investigating whether this cheap, readily available drug could help save the lives of cancer patients.”

The new research is just the latest to hail this wonder drug to treat conditions other than diabetes.

Last year, research suggested that metformin could help beat the degenerative brain disease Alzheimer’s by triggering the growth of new brain cells.

A recent study at Dundee University showed it also interferes with the formation of toxic “tangles” of protein which clog the brain in Alzheimer’s patients, destroying memory cells.

Related articles

• ‘Diabetes danger’ in just a can of fizzy drink a day
• Diabetes, a disease that blights four million lives
• New hope in fight against diabetes
• Safety probe on diabetes medications

Medical Research Fraud

Morphine: The cheap, effective pain-relief drug denied to millions

 

By Joanne Silberner PRI's The World

In the UK and US, patients who need morphine get it - it's a different story elsewhere

It's cheap, effective and easy to administer - so why are millions of people around the world dying in pain, without access to morphine?

In an open ward at Mulago Hospital in Uganda's capital city, Kampala, an elderly woman named Joyce lies in the fifth bed on the left.

She has twisted the sheets around herself, her face contorted by pain. Joyce's husband, thin and birdlike, hovers over her.

Joyce has cancer - it has spread throughout her body - and until a few days ago, she was on morphine. Then it ran out.

"She's consistently had pain," says a nurse. "And she describes the pain to be deep - kind of into her bones."

The Ugandan government makes and distributes its own morphine for use in hospitals, but poor management means the supply is erratic.

"We're in a very difficult situation," says Lesley Henson, a British pain specialist on duty at Mulago Hospital. They have patients whose pain has been kept under control with morphine - but they are running out it.

In many ways, morphine is an excellent drug for use in developing countries. It is cheap, effective, and simple and easy to administer by mouth.

Yet according to the World Health Organization, every year more than five million people with cancer die in pain, without access to morphine.

"The fact that what stands between them and the relief of that pain is a drug that costs $2 [£1.25] a week, I think is just really unconscionable," says Meg O'Brien, head of The Global Access to Pain Relief Initiative, a non-profit organisation that advocates for greater access to morphine.

O'Brien says in well-off countries, like the UK and United States, there is enough morphine to treat 100% of people in pain - but in low-income countries, it's just 8%.

In many low- and middle-income countries - 150, by some counts - morphine is all but impossible to get. Some governments don't provide it, or strictly limit it, because of concerns that it will be diverted to produce heroin.

And many doctors are reluctant to prescribe morphine, fearing their patients will become addicted.

In India, whether you can get morphine depends largely on where you are treated.

Tata Memorial Hospital, a modern and well-equipped medical centre in Mumbai, has no problem getting morphine for patients.

"We have all the medicines necessary," says Dr Mary Ann Muckaden, head of pain relief at the hospital. "We never run out."

But in other parts of the country, it's a different story. Muckaden estimates only 1% to 2% of Indians with cancer pain get morphine.

Dinesh Kumar Yadav, 28, has come to Tata Memorial - a 30-hour bus ride from his home - to get morphine for his wife.

He tells me she is bedridden with pain but can't get morphine in the north Indian state where they live.

Dr Muckaden says part of the problem is a stifling bureaucracy.

"Many physicians in the north, they don't want to go through the rigorous licensing to store morphine," she explains.

A morphine-use map of the world

• $2 (£1.25) - cost per week per patient
• 100% - percentage of people in UK and US who have access to morphine, if they need it
• 8% - percentage in the developing world who get morphine when required
• 20% of the world's painful deaths are in sub-Saharan Africa, but only 1% of morphine use

Source: GAPRI

There is a place in India where there are no barriers to morphine. But even at the CIPLA Palliative Care Centre in the city of Pune, in Maharashtra state, there are still challenges.

You don't see the challenges when you walk through the cool courtyard gardens with fountains and manicured walkways, or in the beautiful whitewashed buildings with large airy wards, each named after a flower.

"This is heaven on earth," says Asha Dikshit, whose mother came here last year in the last stages of breast cancer.

"She was in agony. Her shoulder had dislocated. It could not be fixed back," says Dikshit. "She had pain in the back, and sometimes there were hallucinations."

But she says her mother died - peacefully - on morphine.

 

Making morphine

• Comes from the opium poppy
• Discovered in 1804
• First marketed for pain relief in 1817
• Recommended by WHO for pain relief under certain conditions

• Morphine and cancer in the UK

Every patient here has cancer, and the care is free. The Indian generic drug manufacturer CIPLA supplies the morphine and pays all the other expenses.

But even with all the centre offers, the occupancy rate runs at only about 60%. One big reason, says director Priya Kulkarni, is a result of patients' own concerns about morphine. They often think morphine equals death, and they recoil when doctors suggest it.

Kulkarni says many local oncologists don't want to send patients here for that reason.

"They don't want to give up when it comes to giving them hope," she says. "And saying something like, 'I am going to refer you to a palliative specialist,' is indirectly saying 'There is nothing more I can do for you.'"

Despite all the obstacles to the use of morphine in the developing world, Kulkarni and others say things are starting to move in their direction.

In low-income countries, morphine consumption is up tenfold since 1995, according to the International Narcotics Control Board. And several countries where not many years ago there was no morphine - like Uganda - at least have some today, even if the supply is unreliable.

Back at the hospital in Kampala - where the pharmacy ran out of morphine and Joyce, the cancer patient, had to go without - palliative care specialist Leslie Henson finds a bit of luck. After leaving her patient, she steps into an office, glances at a bookshelf, and sees a forgotten bottle of morphine. It's enough to treat two or three people.

"Hopefully, we'll go take this to her and see what we can do," she says as she troops back to Joyce's room.

Soon, a doctor administers the morphine.

Joyce smiles. Her face untwists. And her husband looks ecstatic.

I ask Joyce if she's glad to get the morphine. Her husband answers. "Very much, indeed."

Other people in the hospital will remain in pain - there is not enough morphine to go around - but for the next few hours, at least, Joyce will be pain-free.

India's poster boy for vegetarianism – he's just fathered a child at 96

Andrew Buncombe in The Independent

The world's oldest father has been recruited by activists in India who maintain lifelong vegetarians retain their "vigour" better than others.

Ramajit Raghav, who shot to celebrity two years ago at the age of 94 when he first became a father, features in a new campaign by for People for the Ethical Treatment of Animals (Peta) India.

A photograph of Mr Raghav, who recently fathered his second child, Ranjit, at the age of 96, shows him cradling the baby with the headline "Vegetarians Still Got It at Age 96".

"I have been a vegetarian all my life, and I credit my stamina and virility to my diet," said the elderly father from the state of Haryana. "Being a vegetarian is the secret to my strength and good health."

Peta claims living a vegetarian life makes perfect sense and that India is increasingly seeing problems associated with heart disease, cancer and diabetes, which it says are associated with a meat-eating diet.

"And since each vegetarian saves the lives of more than 100 animals a year, their consciences are lighter, too," it said. "Viagra and other anti-impotence drugs may get you through the night, but a vegetarian diet can get you through your life. Numerous physicians agree that the best way to prevent artery blockage and other conditions that cause impotence is to eat a diet high in fibre, including plenty of fruits, vegetables, and whole grains."

When he was interviewed last month by The Times of India, Mr Raghav revealed he had been a bachelor until meeting his wife, Shakuntala Devi, ten years ago.

He has been a strict vegetarian and has never drank alcohol. Instead, his diet is made up of fresh milk, clarified butter, vegetables and chapattis.

"I wake up at five in the morning and go to bed before 8pm. During the day, I work in the fields and also take an afternoon nap," he said

A virus that kills cancer: the cure that's waiting in the cold

Sitting in a refrigerator in a Swedish laboratory is what promises to be a cheap and effective cancer treatment. So why are the trials to bring it to market not going ahead?

By Alexander Masters

4:00PM BST 31 Aug 2012

211 Comments

On the snow-clotted plains of central Sweden where Wotan and Thor, the clamorous gods of magic and death, once held sway, a young, self-deprecating gene therapist has invented a virus that eliminates the type of cancer that killed Steve Jobs.

'Not "eliminates"! Not "invented", no!' interrupts Professor Magnus Essand, panicked, when I Skype him to ask about this explosive achievement.

'Our results are only in the lab so far, not in humans, and many treatments that work in the lab can turn out to be not so effective in humans. However, adenovirus serotype 5 is a common virus in which we have achieved transcriptional targeting by replacing an endogenous viral promoter sequence by…'

It sounds too kindly of the gods to be true: a virus that eats cancer.

'I sometimes use the phrase "an assassin who kills all the bad guys",' Prof Essand agrees contentedly. 

Cheap to produce, the virus is exquisitely precise, with only mild, flu-like side-effects in humans. Photographs in research reports show tumours in test mice melting away.

'It is amazing,' Prof Essand gleams in wonder. 'It's better than anything else. Tumour cell lines that are resistant to every other drug, it kills them in these animals.'

Yet as things stand, Ad5[CgA-E1A-miR122]PTD – to give it the full gush of its most up-to-date scientific name – is never going to be tested to see if it might also save humans. Since 2010 it has been kept in a bedsit-sized mini freezer in a busy lobby outside Prof Essand's office, gathering frost. ('Would you like to see?' He raises his laptop computer and turns, so its camera picks out a table-top Electrolux next to the lab's main corridor.)

Two hundred metres away is the Uppsala University Hospital, a European Centre of Excellence in Neuroendocrine Tumours. Patients fly in from all over the world to be seen here, especially from America, where treatment for certain types of cancer lags five years behind Europe. Yet even when these sufferers have nothing else to hope for, have only months left to live, wave platinum credit cards and are prepared to sign papers agreeing to try anything, to hell with the side-effects, the oncologists are not permitted – would find themselves behind bars if they tried – to race down the corridors and snatch the solution out of Prof Essand's freezer.

I found out about Prof Magnus Essand by stalking him. Two and a half years ago the friend who edits all my work – the biographer and genius transformer of rotten sentences and misdirected ideas, Dido Davies – was diagnosed with neuroendocrine tumours, the exact type of cancer that Steve Jobs had. Every three weeks she would emerge from the hospital after eight hours of chemotherapy infusion, as pale as ice but nevertheless chortling and optimistic, whereas I (having spent the day battling Dido's brutal edits to my work, among drip tubes) would stumble back home, crack open whisky and cigarettes, and slump by the computer. Although chemotherapy shrank the tumour, it did not cure it. There had to be something better.

It was on one of those evenings that I came across a blog about a quack in Mexico who had an idea about using sub-molecular particles – nanotechnology. Quacks provide a very useful service to medical tyros such as myself, because they read all the best journals the day they appear and by the end of the week have turned the results into potions and tinctures. It's like Tommy Lee Jones in Men in Black reading the National Enquirer to find out what aliens are up to, because that's the only paper trashy enough to print the truth. Keep an eye on what the quacks are saying, and you have an idea of what might be promising at the Wild West frontier of medicine. This particular quack was in prison awaiting trial for the manslaughter (by quackery) of one of his patients, but his nanotechnology website led, via a chain of links, to a YouTube lecture about an astounding new therapy for neuroendocrine cancer based on pig microbes, which is currently being put through a variety of clinical trials in America.

I stopped the video and took a snapshot of the poster behind the lecturer's podium listing useful research company addresses; on the website of one of these organisations was a reference to a scholarly article that, when I checked through the footnotes, led, via a doctoral thesis, to a Skype address – which I dialled.

'Hey! Hey!' Prof Magnus Essand answered.

To geneticists, the science makes perfect sense. It is a fact of human biology that healthy cells are programmed to die when they become infected by a virus, because this prevents the virus spreading to other parts of the body. But a cancerous cell is immortal; through its mutations it has somehow managed to turn off the bits of its genetic programme that enforce cell suicide. This means that, if a suitable virus infects a cancer cell, it could continue to replicate inside it uncontrollably, and causes the cell to 'lyse' – or, in non-technical language, tear apart. The progeny viruses then spread to cancer cells nearby and repeat the process. A virus becomes, in effect, a cancer of cancer. In Prof Essand's laboratory studies his virus surges through the bloodstreams of test animals, rupturing cancerous cells with Viking rapacity.

The Uppsala virus isn't unique. Since the 1880s, doctors have known that viral infections can cause dramatic reductions in tumours. In 1890 an Italian clinician discovered that prostitutes with cervical cancer went into remission when they were vaccinated against rabies, and for several years he wandered the Tuscan countryside injecting women with dog saliva. In another, 20th-century, case, a 14-year-old boy with lymphatic leukaemia caught chickenpox: within a few days his grotesquely enlarged liver and spleen had returned to ordinary size; his explosive white blood cell count had shrunk nearly 50-fold, back to normal.

But it wasn't until the 1990s, and the boom in understanding of genetics, that scientists finally learnt how to harness and enhance this effect. Two decades later, the first results are starting to be discussed in cancer journals.

So why is Magnus – did he mind if I called him 'Magnus'? – about to stop his work?

A reticent, gently doleful-looking man, he has a Swedish chirrup that makes him sound jolly whatever his actual mood. On the web, the first links to him proclaim the Essand Band, his rock group. 'Money,' he said. 'Lack of.'

'Lack of how much money? Give me a figure,' I pressed. 'What sort of price are we talking about to get this virus out of your freezer and give these people a chance of life?'

Magnus has light brown hair that, like his voice, refuses to cooperate. No matter how much he ruffles it, it looks politely combed. He wriggled his fingers through it now, raised his eyes and squinted in calculation, then looked back into his laptop camera. 'About a million pounds?'

More people have full-blown neuroendocrine tumours (known as NETs or carcinoids) than stomach, pancreas, oesophagus or liver cancer. And the incidence is growing: there has been a five-fold increase in the number of people diagnosed in the last 30 years.

In medical school, students are taught 'when you hear hoof beats, think horses not zebras' – don't diagnose a rare disease when there's a more prob-able explanation. It leads to frequent misdiagnoses: until the death of Steve Jobs, NETs were considered the zebras of cancer, and dismissed as irritable bowel syndrome, flu or the patient getting in a tizz. But doctors are now realising that NETs are much more prevalent than previously thought. In a recent set of post-mortem investigations, scientists cut open more than 30,000 bodies, and ran their hands down the intestines of the dead as if they were squeezing out sausage skins. One in every 100 of them had the distinctive gritty bumps of NETs. That's two people in every rush-hour tube carriage on your way home from work, or scaled up, 700,000 people in Britain, or roughly twice the population of the city of Manchester. The majority of these tumours are benign; but a small percentage of them, for reasons that no one understands, burst into malignancy.

Many other cancers, if they spread, acquire certain features of neuroendocrine tumours. The first person to own a successful anti-neuroendocrine cancer drug – it doesn't even have to cure the disease, just slow its progress as anti-retrovirals have done with Aids – will be not only healthy but also Steve Jobs-rich. Last year the pharmaceuticals giant Amgen bought a cancer-assassinating version of the herpes virus for $1 billion. That Magnus's virus could be held up by a minuscule £1 million dumbfounded me.

'That's a banker's bonus,' I said. 'Less than a rock star's gold toilet seat. It's the best bargain going. If I found someone to give you this money, would you start the clinical trials?'

'Of course,' replied Magnus. 'Shall I ask the Swedish Cancer Board how soon we can begin?'

I do not have a million pounds. But for £68 I flew to Uppsala. I wanted to pester Prof Essand about his work, face to face, and see this virus, face to petri dish. I wanted to slip some into my mittens, smuggle it back to England in an ice pack and jab it into Dido.

Magnus's work is already funded by the Swedish Cancer Society and the Swedish Children Cancer Society (neuroblastoma, the most common cancer in infants, is a type of neuroendocrine tumour). A virus that he previously developed (against prostate cancer) is about to enter human trials in Rotterdam, supported by a European Union grant.

The difficulty with Magnus's virus is not that it is outré, but that it is not outré enough. It is a modified version of an adenovirus, which is known to be safe in humans. It originates from humans, occurring naturally in the adenoids. The disadvantage is that it is too safe: the immune system has had thousands of years to learn how to dispatch such viruses the moment they stray out of the adenoids. It is not the fact that Magnus is using a virus to deal with cancer that makes his investigation potentially so valuable, but the novel way he has devised to get round this problem of instant elimination by the immune system, and enable the virus to spread through tumours in other parts of the body.

The closer you get to manipulating the cellular forces of human existence, the more you sound like a schoolboy babbling about his model aeroplane. Everything in the modern genetics lab is done with kits. There are no fizzing computer lights or fractionating columns dribbling out coagulations of genetic soup in Magnus's lab; not a single Bunsen burner. Each narrow laboratory room has pale, uncluttered melamine worktops running down both sides, wall units above and small blue cardboard cartons dotted everywhere. Even in their genetics labs, Swedes enjoy an air of flatpack-ness. The most advanced medical lab in the world, and it looks like a half-fitted kitchen.

To make and test their virus, Magnus buys cell lines pre-fab (including 'human foreskin fibro-blast') for $50-100 from a company in California; DNA and 'enzyme mix' arrive in $179 packets from Indiana; protein concentrations are tested 'according to the manufacturer's instructions' with a DIY kit ($117) from Illinois; and for $79, a parcel from Santa Cruz contains (I haven't made this up) 'horseradish peroxidase conjugated donkey anti-goat antibody'.

In a room next to Magnus's office, a chatty woman with a ponytail is putting DNA inside bacteria. This God-like operation of primal delicacy involves taking a test tube with a yellow top from a $146 Qiagen kit, squirting in a bit of liquid with a pipette and putting the result in a box similar to a microwave: 'turn the dial to 25 kilovolts and oophlah! The bacteria, they get scared, they let the DNA in. All done,' the woman says. As the bacteria divide, the desirable viral fragments increase.

What costs the £1 million (less than two per cent of the price of Francis Bacon's Triptych 1976) that Magnus needs to bring this medicine to patients is not the production, but the health-and-safety paperwork to get the trials started. Trials come in three phases. What Magnus was suggesting for his trifling £1 million (two Mont Blanc diamond-encrusted pens) was not just a phase I trial, but also a phase II, which, all being well, would bring the virus right to the point where a big pharmaceuticals company would pay 10 or 100 times as much to take it over and organise the phase III trial required by law to presage full-scale drug development.

'So, if Calvin Klein or Elton John or… Paris Hilton stumped up a million, could they have the virus named after them?'

'Why not?' Magnus nodded, showing me the bacteria incubator, which looks like an industrial clothes washer, only less complicated. 'We can make an even better one for two million.'

There are reasons to be cautious. A recent investigation by Amgen found that 47 of 53 papers (on all medical subjects, not just viruses) by academics in top peer-reviewed science journals contained results that couldn't be reproduced, even though company scientists repeated the experiments up to 50 times. 'That's why we have to have such a careful peer-review process,' Dr Tim Meyer, Dido's energetic, soft-spoken oncologist, warns. 'Everybody thinks that their new treatment for cancer is worth funding, but everybody is also keen that only good-quality research is funded.' Similar to Prof Essand in youth but less polite of hair, Dr Meyer is the co-director of the Experimental Cancer Medicine Centre at University College London. Beside his office, banks of white-coated researchers are bent over desks, busy with pipettes and microscopes. His team pursues an exciting brew of new anti-cancer ideas: antibody-targeted therapy, vascular therapy, DNA binding agents and photodynamic therapy. Each of these shows remarkable promise. But even for such a brilliant and innovative team as this, money is not flowing.

Everyone in cancer science is fighting for ever-decreasing small pools of cash, especially now the government has started tiptoeing into charities at night and rifling the collection boxes. It is big news that Dr Meyer and the UCL team won a grant of £2.5 million, spread out over the next five years, to continue his institute's cutting-edge investigations into cancers that kill off thousands of us every week: leukaemia; melanoma; gynaecological, gastrointestinal and prostate cancers. Without this money, he would have had to sack 13 members of staff. The sum of £2.5 million is roughly what Madonna earns in 10 days.

He peers at Magnus's pairs of photographs of splayed rodents with glowing tumours in one shot that have vanished in the next. He knows the Uppsala neuroendocrine team well and has great respect for them. 'It may be good,' he agrees. But until Magnus's findings are tested in a clinical trial, nobody knows how good the work is. Astonishing results in animals are often disappointing in humans. 'We all need to be subject to the same rules of competitive grant funding and peer review in order to use scarce resources in the most effective manner.'

Back at home with whisky and fags, I nursed my entrepreneurialism. There are currently about half a dozen cancer research institutes in Europe developing adenoviruses to treat cancer – all of them pathetically short of cash. Enter the Vanity Virus Initiative. Pop a couple of million over to Uppsala University, and you will go down in medical books as the kind heart who relieved Ad5[CgA-E1A-miR122]PTD of its hideous hump of a moniker, and gave it the glamour of your own name. What's the worst that can happen? Even if Magnus's innovations don't work in clinical trials the negative results will be invaluable for the next generation of viruses. For the rest of time, your name will pop up in the reference sections of medical papers as the (insert your name here) virus that enabled researchers to find the cure for cancer by avoiding Magnus's error.

On my third glass of whisky, I wrote an email to Dr Meyer suggesting that he issue a shopping list each year at the time that bankers receive their bonuses, which could be circulated in the City. The list would itemise the therapies that his Experimental Cancer Medicine Centre have selected for support, and quantify how much would be needed in each case to cover all outstanding funds and ensure that the work is branded with your name.

The corridors connecting the different research departments of the Uppsala medical campus are built underground, in order to protect the staff from death during the Swedish winters. Professors and lab technicians zip back and forth along these enormous rectangular tunnels on scooters, occasionally scratching their heads at the tangled intersections where three or four passageways meet at once, then pushing off again, gowns flying, one leg pounding the concrete floor like a piston, until they find the right door, drop the scooter and rise back upstairs by lift. Suspended from the ceiling of these corridors is a vacuum tube that schluuuuups up tissue samples at top speed, and delivers them to the appropriate investigative team. Magnus led me along these tunnels to the Uppsala University Hospital, to visit the chief oncologist, Kjell (pronounced 'Shell') Oberg – the man who will run the trial once the money is in place.

'The trouble with Magnus's virus is Magnus is Swedish,' he says, wincing and clutching the air with frustration.

'It is so,' Magnus agrees sorrowfully. Swedishly uninterested in profiteering, devoted only to the purity of science, Magnus and his co-workers on this virus have already published the details of their experiments in leading journals around the world, which means that the modified virus as it stands can no longer be patented. And without a patent to make the virus commercial, no one will invest. Even if I could raise the £2 million (I want only the best version) to get the therapy to the end of phase II trials, no organisation is going to step forward to run the phase III trial that is necessary to make the therapy public.

'Is that because pharmaceuticals companies are run by ruthless plutocrats who tuck into roast baby with cranberry sauce for lunch and laugh at the sick?' I ask sneerily.

'It is because,' Kjell corrects me, 'only if there's a big profit can such companies ensure that everyone involved earns enough to pay their mortgage.'

There is no ready source of public funds, either. For reasons understood only by Wotan and Thor, the Swedish government refuses to finance clinical trials in humans, even when the results could potentially slash the country's health bill by billions of kronor.

All is not lost, however. Kjell does not have to wait until the end of the trials – which could take as much as 10 years – for the full, three-phase process before being able to inject Magnus's virus into his patients, because as soon as the test samples are approved and ready for use, he can by European law start offering the medicine, on an individual basis, to patients who sign a waiver confirming that they're prepared to risk experimental treatments. Within 18 months he could be starting his human case-studies.

At several moments during my research into this cancer-delaying virus from the forests of Scandinavia I have felt as though there were someone schlocky from Hollywood operating behind the scenes. The serendipitous discovery of it on the internet; the appalling frustration of being able to see the new therapy, to stand with my hand against the freezer door knowing that it is three inches away, not well-guarded, and that it might work even in its crude current state, but that I may not use it; the thrill of Kjell Oberg's powerful
support; the despair over the lack of such a silly, artificial thing as a patent. Now, Dr Leja steps into the narrative: she is the virologist whose brilliant doctoral thesis first put me on to the cancer-eating-virus-left-in-a-freezer, and whose name heads all the subsequent breakthrough research papers about this therapy. She turns out to be 29, to look like Scarlett Johansson and to wear voluptuous red lipstick.

Justyna Leja slinks up from her chair, shakes my hand and immediately sets off into a baffling technical discussion with Magnus about a good way to get the patent back for the virus, by a subtle manipulation that involves something called a 'new backbone'. She also has in mind a small extra tweak to the new-backboned microbe's outer coat, which will mean that the virus not only bursts the cancer cells it infects, but also provokes the immune system to attack tumours directly. It will be easy to see if it works in animals – but is it worth lumbering the current virus with it for use in humans, who tend to be less responsive? The extra preparatory work could delay the phase I and II trials for a further year.

Back at his lab, Magnus opened up the infamous freezer. I took a step towards the plastic flasks of virus: he nipped the door shut with an appreciative smile.

'What would you do,' I asked bitterly, returning my hand to my pocket, 'if it were your wife who had the disease, or one of your sons whose photograph I saw on your desk?'

He glanced back at the freezer. Although his lab samples are not made to pharmaceutical grade, they would be only marginally less trustworthy than a fully-sanctioned, health-and-safety certified product that is between 1,000 and 10,000 times more expensive.

'I don't know,' he groaned, tugging his hair in despair at the thought. 'I don't know.'

To donate money to Professor Magnus Essand's research on viral treatments for neuroendocrine cancer, send contributions to Uppsala University, The Oncolytic Virus Fund, Box 256, SE-751 05 Uppsala, Sweden, or visit www.uu.se/en/support/oncolytic. Contributions will be acknowledged in scientific publications and in association with the clinical trial. A donation of £1 million will ensure the virus is named in your honour