The emergency department at Royal Perth Hospital had never witnessed anything like the night of 12 October 2002. Dr Fiona Wood, a specialist burns surgeon, stood in a room thick with the smell of burnt flesh and antiseptic. Wave after wave of patients arrived from the Bali nightclub bombings – young people with skin literally peeling away, their faces swollen beyond recognition. One twenty-two-year-old woman had burns covering over ninety per cent of her body. The conventional approach would have meant harvesting strips of her own unburned skin, but there was hardly any left.
Dr Wood made a split-second decision: she took a postage-stamp-sized piece of viable skin, placed it in a petri dish with growth medium, and began spraying cultured autologous cells back onto the raw wounds. It was a gamble, but desperate times called for radical measures. The team held their breath as the fine mist of living cells settled on the weeping flesh. Born in England in 1958, Fiona Wood moved to Australia as a child and grew up in Perth. She studied medicine at the University of Western Australia, graduating in 1981.
Initially training as a general surgeon, she was drawn to the field of plastic and reconstructive surgery after witnessing the profound psychological impact of scarring on patients. Her early career focused on burn care, where she observed the fundamental limitation of traditional skin grafting: when a patient is severely burned, there is insufficient healthy skin to harvest. This constraint spurred her to think differently. She began investigating tissue engineering, specifically the possibility of growing a patient's own skin cells in the laboratory and applying them as a liquid suspension. The concept seemed outlandish to many colleagues, but Wood was convinced there had to be a better way.
Dr Wood made a split-second decision: she took a postage-stamp-sized piece of viable skin, placed it in a petri dish with growth medium, and began spraying cultured autologous cells back onto the raw wounds.
The challenge was multifaceted. First, culturing skin cells took time – typically several weeks – while burn patients needed immediate coverage to prevent infection and fluid loss. Second, the technique of spraying cells onto a wound had never been reliably tested on humans. Critics argued that the cells would simply wash away or die before they could adhere. Third, the regulatory environment was cautious; controlled clinical trials were required before any new treatment could be adopted. Wood faced skepticism from both medical peers and hospital administrators. She needed to prove that spray-on skin could achieve faster healing, reduce scarring, and most critically, save lives that would otherwise be lost.
The Bali bombings provided an unplanned, high-stakes test case for this controversial innovation. Despite the chaos of that October night, Wood and her team meticulously documented the outcomes of the spray-on skin procedure on the Bali victims. Results were promising: wounds healed more quickly than with conventional methods, and scarring was significantly reduced. Encouraged, Wood pursued rigorous clinical studies. She founded the McComb Research Foundation – later renamed the Fiona Wood Foundation – to advance the technology. However, the path to acceptance was arduous. International journals were initially reluctant to publish her results, and some surgeons remained unconvinced.
It took nearly a decade of persistent data collection and refinement before the technique was widely recognised as a breakthrough. Wood’s turning point came when she demonstrated that spray-on skin not only worked but could be combined with conventional grafting to maximise coverage with minimal donor skin. Wood’s response to the ongoing resistance was characteristic: she doubled down on evidence. She collaborated with engineers to improve the spraying device and with biologists to optimize the cell culture medium. She insisted on meticulous record-keeping and long-term follow-up of patients.
Her team developed a protocol that allowed cells to be harvested and sprayed within a single surgical session, rather than waiting weeks. This same-day approach dramatically improved outcomes. Wood also became an advocate for burns prevention and fire safety, using her platform to educate the public. She did not seek fame but understood that credibility required transparency. She published her results honestly, even when they fell short of expectations. Her response to setbacks was to treat them as data rather than defeat, which built trust slowly. Reflecting on her career, Wood is philosophical about the long road to acceptance.
She acknowledges that innovation in medicine is often met with suspicion, and that patience is essential. She has spoken about the emotional toll of treating children with catastrophic burns – the most difficult cases. The resilience required to continue after losing a patient is immense. Wood developed a mindset of focusing on what she could control: the science, the technique, and her team’s morale. She instituted regular debriefings to prevent burnout among staff. Her own family life suffered at times; she has described missing school events because of emergency surgeries.
Yet she remains committed to the idea that every patient deserves the best possible chance at recovery. This blend of scientific rigor and compassion defines her approach. The significance of Fiona Wood’s work extends far beyond Australia. Spray-on skin technology has been used to treat thousands of burn victims worldwide, from warfare casualties to industrial accidents. It has reduced the mortality of severe burns by a substantial margin. Wood was named Australian of the Year in 2005, but she insists the real credit belongs to the research team and the patients who volunteered for trials.
One memorable concrete detail: the initial research leading to spray-on skin was partially funded from her own savings, and she used a modified tattoo gun as the first spraying device. This cobbled-together prototype eventually evolved into a sophisticated medical instrument. Wood’s story illustrates that groundbreaking medical treatment often begins with a simple idea, a critical mass of desperation, and a refusal to accept the status quo.