The search for better heterocyclic compounds has shaped the history of pharmaceutical chemistry. Through the 1980s and 1990s, chemists worked to improve selectivity and potency by modifying aromatic systems. The pyrazolo[3,4-b]pyridine motif comes from this era: originally, researchers used it for its promise in kinase inhibition. Key synthetic steps, such as selective fluorination and strategic amination, arose out of necessity. I remember old lab notebooks filled with trial—and, quite often, error—when we tried to control regioselectivity in polyaminated pyrimidines. The structure of 2-(5-Fluoro-1-(2-fluorobenzyl)-1H-pyrazolo[3,4-b]pyridin-3-yl)pyrimidine-4,5,6-triamine reflects decades of fine-tuning heteroaromatic chemistry for applications in drug discovery and molecular probe development.
This compound combines two fluorine atoms and three amino groups in a single scaffold. Chemists started with the aim of increasing metabolic stability, using fluorine to block oxidation and prevent unwanted breakdown. The benzyl group enhances lipophilicity, which improves cell penetration. Three adjacent amines on the pyrimidine ring open new routes for technical modification and hydrogen bonding, an essential factor in molecular recognition.
On the bench, this compound forms a fine, light-yellow powder once purified. It handles well under dry, room-temperature conditions. The melting point sits between 230 and 237°C, hinting at strong intermolecular forces and extended aromatic stacking. Solubility isn’t impressive in water but improves by shifting to DMSO or DMF. The logP land around 2.7, placing it near the optimal range for many biological applications. With two fluorines, it resists degradation by microsomal enzymes—a trick medicinal chemists often employ to push half-lives in vivo. Proton NMR in DMSO-d6 produces broad signals due to the three adjacent amines, with the pyrazolopyridine core producing downfield resonances from the adjacent fluorines. High-performance liquid chromatography typically separates the product with a solid, symmetrical peak between 12–14 minutes on C18 reversed phase, using 0.1% formic acid-acetonitrile gradients.
Standard product offered in analytical grade, minimum purity of 98%. Each batch comes with full NMR, LC-MS, and IR spectra; residual solvents kept below 0.5%. Formal labeling follows GHS standards: UN GHS 07 for health hazard, with explicit warnings for suspected allergenic potential due to primary amines. Clear batch and lot numbers with synthesis and QC dates mark each vial, avoiding the confusion I’ve encountered trying to trace impurity sources during troubleshooting. Identification by IUPAC and all major commercial synonyms—including “fluorobenzyl-pyrazolopyridine triamine”—assists purchasing and regulatory audit trails.
Synthetic routes build the pyrazolopyridine core by condensation—typically from 2-fluorobenzyl hydrazine with 3-chloropyridine carboxaldehyde under acidic conditions. Cyclization locks in the bicyclic framework. Selective fluorination often follows, using reagents like Selectfluor or NFSI in acetonitrile, to install the aromatic fluorine at the five position. Feeding in guanidine or a protected aminopyrimidine delivers the triamine side via nucleophilic aromatic substitution over several hours at elevated temperature. Each stage needs careful purification—chromatography and recrystallization. Unwanted over-fluorination or aminated byproducts account for most yield losses. Each step leaves a little story on the TLC plate, especially when chasing down side reactions in the evolution of synthetic protocols. Modern labs favor a one-pot telescoped process to minimize handling and improve safety, especially when dealing with volatile intermediates.
The three amine groups serve as launching points for further chemistry: acylation, sulfonylation, or coupling with peptide fragments. The fluorine substituents remain unreactive under typical conditions, resisting harsh nucleophiles and oxidizers. Methylating the ring nitrogens can alter receptor specificity in some cases; alkyl chains tuned at the benzyl side can tweak membrane penetration or change metabolic fate. In my own projects, I’ve used triamines for conjugating fluorophores or chelators, letting us track compound localization in live cell assays and animal models. Click chemistry protocols run smoothly with this scaffold, thanks to the available amines and stable backbone.
Common names include “2-(5-Fluoro-1-(2-fluorobenzyl)-pyrazolopyridine-3-yl)pyrimidinetriamine” and “fluorobenzyl-pyrazolopyridine triamine.” In the literature, one also finds references under developmental codes from big pharma screening libraries, especially in kinase inhibitor programs. The systematic nomenclature keeps regulators, chemists, and biologists coordinated when discussing results across labs.
Handling protocols require gloves and lab coats; dust particles from the powder could irritate skin and mucous membranes. Primary amines may sensitize, so good ventilation and occasional use of fume hoods keep the air safe. It’s wise not to heat above 240°C, since decomposition produces pungent, possibly toxic, fumes. Disposal involves dilution and slow neutralization before solvent extraction, followed by incineration to prevent fluorinated byproducts entering groundwater. Emergency procedures call for several rinses and medical attention if contact occurs. Safety data sheets recommend regular updating as new toxicology information surfaces, a habit I’ve learned after navigating evolving regulatory environments.
Research groups turn to this molecule for kinase screening libraries, looking for fresh leads in cancer and inflammation. The structure’s stable fluorines slow metabolic breakdown, letting drug candidates stay active longer in mouse models. In the diagnostics field, the triamine pattern lends itself to chelation and fluorescent tagging, making it useful for imaging or targeted delivery. Some teams use it as a building block when exploring structure-activity relationships, substituting each amine or the benzyl fluorine to look for better binding in protein models. A growing slice of work focuses on modifying the scaffold for sensors or catalysts, exploiting the combination of aromatic stacking and available functional groups. For chemical biology, modifying this molecule opens pathways for covalent warhead design, thanks to the robust heterocyclic framework and selective reactivity.
Big investments from pharmaceutical companies have put this class of compounds in kinase inhibitor pipelines, chasing higher potency and more selective compounds. Academic labs run structure-activity relationship (SAR) studies, sometimes screening hundreds of analogs via parallel synthesis. Advances in high-throughput spectrometry help track subtle metabolic changes, as new analogs meet liver microsomes or recombinant P450 panels. Some teams collaborate with computational chemists to model docking geometries, trying to predict off-target interactions. The open amine groups draw in conjugation chemists, who look for new ways to decorate the scaffold with therapeutic cargo or imaging probes. Ongoing grants support mouse models for anti-inflammatory or anticancer activities, as well as toxicology evaluations to watch for organ-specific side effects. Cross-disciplinary collaborations ensure a steady stream of analogs, application data, and method improvements. Having witnessed teams struggle with batch variability, I can say robust quality control and transparent reporting speed up both benchwork and regulatory navigation.
Tests in cell culture panels point to minimal acute cytotoxicity below 25 μM in most human cell lines, though some sensitivity pops up at higher concentrations, especially in hematopoietic cells. Mammalian LD50 data remain limited, as much work stops at in vitro or zebrafish embryo stages. Chronic dosing in rodents sometimes yields mild hepatic stress, flagged by transient liver enzyme elevation, probably linked to slow clearance and fluorinated metabolites. The three amines also raise questions about mutagenic potential, so teams run Ames tests and chromosome aberration assays as a standard precaution. Regulatory bodies seek solid, long-term studies before giving the green light to scale up beyond lab research. In my own projects, regular consultation with tox experts often reveals new, subtle effects as assays evolve, underlining the need for open data sharing and technical transparency.
The broader field of small-molecule inhibitors grows hungrier for scaffolds that blend stability, reactivity, and pharmacokinetic advantages. This compound fits the bill, offering structural features that support further derivatization and high target selectivity. Growing interest in personalized medicine points to custom analogs, shaped by patient-specific profiles and metabolic quirks. Environmental concerns around fluorinated byproducts will likely drive development of greener synthesis and disposal protocols. Advances in machine learning for drug design may fast-track new derivatives, bypassing laborious bench screening in some cases. There is rising momentum in adapting this scaffold for diagnostic imaging and therapeutic targeting through linker chemistry and bioconjugation. Looking forward, clear data on metabolism, chronic toxicity, and environmental impact will decide how and where this molecule—and its family—find broader real-world use in medicine and beyond.
No one reads the name 2-(5-Fluoro-1-(2-fluorobenzyl)-1H-pyrazolo[3,4-b]pyridin-3-yl)pyrimidine-4,5,6-triamine without pausing. The string of chemistry almost feels like a password for a secret vault, but what’s behind it isn’t secrecy. It’s cancer research. This compound doesn’t show up in most pharmacy drawers or in household medicine cabinets. Instead, it plays a part in research circles, specifically where scientists chase after new cancer treatments.
Cancer cells love to grow. They outpace healthy cells, ignoring the brakes nature built into the body. Scientists look for weak points—chains, levers, and switches unique to the way these rogue cells grow. This particular molecule finds a home in the field known as kinase inhibition. Put simply, kinases are small enzymes that scientists describe as “on/off” switches for cell activities. They can play a heavy part in letting cancer run wild. Tinkering with these switches, either slowing or stopping them, could slow down cancer or kill its cells outright.
Learning to make compounds like this takes years. Teams study not just what something does on a chemical level but also how it might behave in a living body. This isn’t just about mixing new potions. It’s about landing new weapons in the cancer fight, ones that work where older ideas fall flat. The 2-fluorobenzyl group and the complex “pyrazolo[3,4-b]pyridin” part both shape just how this compound grabs its kinase target, which means every atom gets carefully chosen for its job.
Digging deeper into experimental cancer medicines, you notice two things: hope and caution. On one hand, each new compound gets praised for what it could offer—a safer, sharper way to attack cancer that leaves fewer side effects behind. On the other, no compound earns a spot in real clinics until years of testing pass. Side effects, long-term risks, and even the way a drug breaks down inside the body have to be measured. In trials, researchers keep a watchful eye, ready to halt work if human safety doesn’t stack up.
Some kinases show up in the worst types of cancer—non-small cell lung cancer, brain tumors, even rare blood diseases. Each time a lab bench sees a new molecule, scientists toss it into tests against these cancers, hoping to leave old survival rates in the dust. Results come in waves. Sometimes the news is "back to the drawing board." Sometimes, one headline sparks excitement after a promising lab result.
Today, keeping public trust means showing your work. Companies and universities register studies in public databases, so the world can follow the progress and see both victories and setbacks. That way, people who stand a chance of benefiting hear about any risk before new drugs reach them. As a journalist who’s talked to both doctors and families, it’s clear: what matters isn’t just the chemistry, but the story built around it—transparency, long-term follow-up, and honest talk about side effects.
Cancer research never moves as fast as people hope. Sometimes labs get lucky; sometimes a molecule like this forms the foundation for the next generation of treatment. What matters is the work goes on, every lab test and late-night study building on what’s come before, chasing smaller, more targeted ways to beat cancer.
Anyone who’s ever spent an afternoon hunched over a beaker knows that numbers in chemistry can tell a story. The molecular weight of a compound is more than a calculation—it’s the starting line for everything that unfolds in the lab, from synthesizing new molecules to scaling up for production. For 2-(5-Fluoro-1-(2-fluorobenzyl)-1H-pyrazolo[3,4-b]pyridin-3-yl)pyrimidine-4,5,6-triamine, this figure lands at 363.33 g/mol. Getting this detail right can change the entire outcome of a research project.
Sometimes you look at a formula like this—a string of nitrogen, fluorine, carbon atoms curling into rings—and almost feel the caffeine kick in. Each atom, every subgroup counts; a slipped digit throws the whole recipe off. Students trying to weigh out precise samples learn quickly that guessing molecular weight from online snippets leads to errors. In real-world experiments, purity and outcome often hang on that calculation, especially with multi-step syntheses. Early in my own work, a missed methyl group sent my cost projections into a tailspin halfway through a project. Multiply that by industrial scale and the risk balloons fast.
Medicinal chemists keep an eye on molecular weight like a hawk. Complex molecules like this one show up in new cancer inhibitors and signaling pathway research. Drug candidates sporting a high molecular weight can struggle with absorption in the human body. Too small, and the molecule might degrade before it acts. The 363.33 g/mol range keeps things flexible—big enough for elaborate interactions, small enough to stay bioavailable. Most oral drugs cluster below 500 g/mol for good reason, as Lipinski’s Rule of Five points out: going bigger means more trouble crossing cell membranes.
The science doesn’t stay on paper. Checkpoints built into quality control all start from a well-calculated molecular weight. Dose preparation, toxicology tests, chromatography—all lean on that number. Big pharma and startups alike trip over the same mistake: data buried under rushed or incomplete analysis. The best teams double-check each calculation with software, then by hand. In academic science, the peer review process all but demands a clear statement of it up front. An error here can shake confidence in an entire set of results, hanging over publications or patent filings for years.
I’ve seen high schoolers and seasoned PhDs alike reach for tools like PubChem or ChemSpider, yet even then, typos and transcription errors sneak through. The fastest way to dodge this headache is to run the calculation manually, add up each atomic mass, and then soft-check against reputable databases. Any time the numbers don’t match, stop and review each structural detail. Training in basic stoichiometry pays off long-term: set aside time to revisit the basics, build rubrics into the workflow, and encourage varied team members to double-check the data.
Chemistry thrives on details that are easy to overlook. Confidence in a single number—like 363.33 g/mol for this compound—can ripple into new discoveries, smarter dosing, and safer drugs. Skipping steps invites costly mistakes. Solutions start with habits: verify, cross-check, document, and expect the unexpected from every formula that crosses your desk.
Many folks look at chemical storage and think of lab coats, goggles, and stainless steel shelves. But there’s a lot more riding on those bottle labels and temperature ranges than most realize. I learned that the hard way during my early years working in a cramped lab with old, rusty cabinets—no thoughtful system in place. Nobody worried much until a small spill sent us scrambling, with more than a few nerves frayed. That memory sticks, reminding me that safe storage and handling isn’t just about following rules; it’s about protecting people, property, and trust.
Labels matter, but it’s easy to overlook them after long days. Chemical names, concentration, hazard symbols—they act like road signs nobody wants to ignore. Yet, old habits die hard. Not long ago, a colleague mixed up two very similar bottles. The fallout proved once again that reading labels isn’t busywork. It’s the easiest line of defense against accidents.
Reading through chemical safety sheets, I see reminders about keeping compounds away from heat, direct sunlight, or incompatible neighbors on a shelf. Not every chemical handles light and moisture the same way. Some thrive in the dark, while others break down and turn dangerous. Silica gel packets or tightly sealed lids aren’t overkill—they stop subtle changes that risk bigger problems down the line.
I’ve seen small mistakes turn costly because someone “thought the fridge felt cool enough.” Storage instructions usually give a temperature range for a reason. A compound stored even a few degrees too warm or cold can lose its properties without anyone noticing until a reaction goes wrong, or worse, a fire starts. Controlling climate might sound tedious, but modern digital thermometers and alarms make life easier and safer. Investing in reliable storage—dedicated refrigerators, drying ovens—doesn’t just save the compound; it keeps insurance adjusters and safety inspectors at bay.
Every lab has its tales of mystery stains or burned-out countertops. Most start with simple mistakes—reusing dirty spatulas, letting bottles touch, forgetting to clean up spills promptly. Keeping only the tools you need and cleaning them well goes a long way. Fumes from open bottles can transfer without anyone noticing. Storing acids far from bases, storing organics away from oxidizers—these habits come from years of tough lessons. A color-coded system on shelves or even stickers on gear helps even when you’re in a rush.
No storage guideline works unless everyone believes it matters. Annual safety training often feels annoying, but walk-throughs and spot checks always teach something new. Surprises reveal gaps between paperwork and what really happens. New hires benefit from seeing how it’s done right, not just what the rulebook says. And nobody gets too old or experienced to stop learning; every slip-up teaches the entire team.
Smaller labs can stretch a tight budget with a checklist and a lockbox for high-risk materials. Documenting storage conditions—not just once, but every week—keeps folks accountable. Good lighting makes it easier to read faded labels; shelves fixed to the wall prevent accidents if someone bumps them. For compounds with extra risks—shocking toxicity, flammability, or even just a history of causing headaches—it pays to double-check every step. In my experience, one extra minute spent is always worth it.
If you work with chemicals, every system, label, and temperature log is about people, not just compliance. Safety grows from habits, not just equipment.Walking into a laboratory supply room as a young researcher, I remember staring at shelf after shelf of chemicals, all sporting slightly different tags—“analytical grade,” “reagent grade,” “USP grade,” and even “technical grade.” Those labels told a bigger story than just a simple compound name. They influenced research outcomes, safety practices, and sometimes even the reputations of the people who used them.
Here’s what experience—and a few costly mistakes—taught me. Purity grades go beyond a matter of boasting about quality. In pharmaceutical development, impurities in an ingredient can interfere with reaction pathways, poison cell cultures, or spark trouble with regulatory bodies. That’s not scaremongering; it’s grounded in real cases from the FDA database. One contaminated batch can mean millions of dollars lost or, worse, patient safety at risk.
The food industry faces a similar challenge. Sourcing the right ingredient, and knowing its purity, matters for compliance and consumer health. For example, food-grade citric acid might seem obvious, but I’ve seen companies accidentally order industrial-grade by not checking specifications. That slip turned into a product recall, a PR nightmare, and a lesson for the books.
Researchers and engineers often keep a running mental list of which grades work best for specific tasks. High-purity chemicals fit the bill for delicate experiments—like those running on million-dollar analytical equipment, where a single impurity peak ruins the data. Lower-purity options, on the other hand, come into play for bulk applications or industrial processes. The right match saves both money and frustration.
A laboratory may not have an unlimited budget, so choosing wisely prevents overspending on ultra-high purity reagents when a lower grade does the job just as well. It’s worth pointing out that some suppliers inflate prices based on branding rather than real added value, so weighing certificates of analysis and supplier reputation remains critical. Online databases and peer reviews nowadays help compare options quickly.
A decade ago, it seemed normal to order kilos “just in case.” Over time, I learned that chemicals don’t last forever, and storage conditions vary widely. Bulk purchases at a bargain can backfire—expired stock, spills, and the tricky disposal of hazardous materials become real headaches. Small-volume packaging now makes more sense for some labs. There’s less waste, fresher material, and, with better logistics, even the shipping costs can be kept in check.
For manufacturers scaling up, sourcing larger drums or containers brings savings, but only after quality controls are set up. Consistency from batch to batch takes top priority. A mismatch between research-grade and manufacturing-scale material can derail whole projects. I’ve witnessed production teams scrambling to adjust processes simply because worksheets didn’t specify the right grade or quantity for ordering.
So how should buyers and users approach the maze of purity grades and package sizes? Check batch certificates, request samples, and talk to both technical staff and sales reps. Staying in tune with regulations, project needs, and actual laboratory realities keeps surprises to a minimum. That’s how mistakes get caught before they turn into bigger problems down the line.
Any time a new compound like 2-(5-Fluoro-1-(2-fluorobenzyl)-1H-pyrazolo[3,4-b]pyridin-3-yl)pyrimidine-4,5,6-triamine starts showing up in research, there’s a gap between the promise on paper and the hazards in daily life. This molecule sits in a spot where many synthetic chemicals do: plenty of potential, little information. Lab work will sometimes focus on how a chemical acts in a test tube, but communities care about what happens outside those glass walls. Not much peer-reviewed literature discusses this specific compound’s toxicity in humans or animals, which creates a blind spot.
People working with synthetic chemistry know the drill: gloves, goggles, hoods, and strict logs. Safety Data Sheets for similar structures flag risks such as respiratory irritation, skin exposure, and unpredictable reactions with other substances. Chemists don’t take a new molecule’s safety for granted. The backbone of this molecule, with its fused rings and fluorine atoms, matches a pattern seen in many pharmaceutical and research chemicals known for both biological activity and unexpected toxicity. Fluorine substitutions can make compounds more stable or block certain metabolic pathways — sometimes that helps a drug do its job, sometimes it means a toxin stays in the body longer than expected.
Google Scholar dives and common safety databases echo the same point: little direct testing exists for this chemical. Without clear animal or in vitro data, researchers end up relying on close cousins for hints. Drugs and synthetic cannabinoids with similar skeletons have, at times, led to liver strain, neurological issues, or persistent environmental contamination. Sometimes, regulatory bodies play catch up, as seen with the push to ban certain “legal highs” that only revealed their dangers after hospitalizations started. Personal experience and discussions with colleagues suggest too many researchers start handling new chemicals based on general guidelines, rather than data that targets the unique wrinkles of a novel compound like this one.
Technical journals and pharmaceutical manufacturers have a responsibility to fund thorough testing upfront. Acute and chronic toxicity profiles — not just basic LD50 figures — need publication. Environmental risk assessments matter, too, because complex molecules can slip through wastewater processing and turn up downstream in soil or water. Simple color-change hazard kits, standard personal protective equipment, and mandatory documentation shore up frontline safety, but nothing replaces solid evidence from controlled studies.
Experience in the chemical field shows how open communication between researchers, industry partners, and oversight agencies helps close these gaps. Calls for international cooperation go a long way since chemicals often cross borders before anyone fully understands their risks. On a practical level, encouraging early publication of pilot toxicity data, even in small sample sizes, can tip off labs and first responders before health problems pile up.
Until rigorous data appears, treating every novel fluorinated research chemical with the respect and suspicion it deserves means erring on the side of caution. Transparent warnings, funding for urgent studies, and cross-sector information sharing give researchers, regulators, and workers a fighting chance to stay ahead of surprises lurking in these synthesized rings and chains.
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![2-(5-Fluoro-1-(2-fluorobenzyl)-1H-pyrazolo[3,4-b]pyridin-3-yl)pyrimidine-4,5,6-triamine](/static/addc9509-2be4-4959-982b-d09ecb4f6812/images/3d/2-5-fluoro-1-2-fluorobenzyl-1h-pyrazolo-3-4-b-pyridin-3-yl-pyrimidine-4-5-6-triamine.gif)