"Push, push," Maguire told Pierce.

Looking through his microscope, Maguire saw a "bleb" - a small spot where the entering fluid was causing Tommaso's retina to rise. That meant he had gotten the needle in the right place.

"Go, go, go!" he urged Pierce, so he would release the rest of the virus-bearing fluid.

After years of preparation, the actual injection had taken just a few moments.

At 3:45 p.m., Maguire emerged in his hospital scrubs to give the news to the patient's father; an Italian doctor translated.

"He's doing very well," Maguire said. "He's waking up from the anesthesia. The injection went perfectly."

The surgeon walked out into the hallway. Bennett smothered him in a big hug.

"She's more relieved than I am," he cracked.

"Yeah, I am," his wife agreed.

It could be months before they'd learn if Tommaso's vision would get any better. It was time to wait.

An early sign

Maguire's focus is surgery, but he has the utmost respect for his wife's work as a scientist and her role outside the lab. She gamely attends black-tie fund-raisers, patiently explaining her work to potential donors. Ever cheerful, she acts like a big sister to her three patients.

She played tour guide while they recovered from surgery, taking each to FAO Schwarz and Times Square in New York, and to the Franklin Institute in Philadelphia, where they rode the flight simulator.

The third patient, Manuela, liked the simulator best. A 19-year-old university student, she was a bit of a daredevil and a downhill skier, with the best vision of the three.

Still, she was legally blind. When Bennett gave her some 8-by-10 photos of their sight-seeing trip to take back to Italy, Manuela couldn't make out the details.

Then, just two weeks after her surgery, she sent Jean Bennett an e-mail.

Manuela had looked at the photos again. To her delight, she wrote, she started to make out what was in them: herself, in the giant heart at the Franklin Institute, walking through Times Square, touching large stuffed animals at FAO Schwartz.

Bennett was elated. She grabbed the phone and started to call other members of the team. "Guess what? Manuela emailed me! She can see the photos!"

Tommaso and Josalinda had also reported some improvement in their vision, just weeks after their surgeries. They did not notice much difference in broad daylight. But they could see more indoors and at night. They were better at distinguishing lights and darks. At work, Tommaso relied less on his government-appointed guide and more on his cane. He felt confident pushing his baby son in a stroller.

Bennett knew there had been a chance that the patients' vision could improve, but these first three were older, their eyes severely damaged, and they'd received a weaker dose of the vision virus.