‘Alive and Well’ captures struggle against untreatable genetic brain disorder

Watching the recently released documentary film Alive and Well this past Monday evening, I re-experienced the torrent of emotions involved in the fight against Huntington’s disease.

Filmed on three continents, the 75-minute Alive and Well takes us on an odyssey through the lives of six families affected by HD and one HD researcher whose “reason for getting up in the morning is just to do something to solve this problem.”

The stories embody the deepest fears and highest hopes of the HD community.

Alive and Well portrays the utter helplessness of HD patients in the final stages of the disease. The filmmakers visit a medical facility where several HD patients reside. Their bodies appear almost lifeless as they sit in chairs, unable to care for themselves. Their faces are half-frozen, revealing only a wisp of the personalities they once expressed.

These HD people are in a movie, but they cannot even speak their lines.

Honoring HD people, creating an advocacy tool

“Huntington disease has been described as the most devastating disease known to man, and it’s devastating because it robs you of who you are,” says world-renowned HD scientist Dr. Michael Hayden, interviewed in his native South Africa. “You lose the ability to speak. You lose the ability to communicate. Yet your perception is fine. You can perceive things around you.”

Dr. Hayden uses “Huntington disease,” the way people spell the term in Canada, where he has spent much of his career.

“The other devastating part of this is that it’s progressive,” he adds. “There is no way to intervene in the course of the illness. And what’s particularly ironic is that it’s continuous from one generation to the next.”

In their struggles, Huntington’s families provide great inspiration for humanity, “so-called ordinary people doing extraordinary things,” Dr. Hayden continues.

“If people knew the stories that are in these families with Huntington disease, these would fill books and books of adventures and sources of inspiration for the rest of the world. The stories are really profound.”

As the filmmakers say, Alive and Well is about a disease that exists everywhere but is still unknown. It’s also about human resilience.

“We made this film to honor the people who trusted us with their stories, to have this film seen by as many people as possible and to raise awareness of Huntington's disease,” says director Josh Taft, first introduced to HD by Seattle advocate Liz Weber, in a press release. “We wanted a way to share these very personal stories with compassion, strength and beauty. We wanted to create a solid tool for the community to share their stories and to be proud of.”

No regrets

Viewing the film in a downtown San Diego movie theater at a screening organized by Misty Oto of the local chapter of the Huntington’s Disease Society of America (HDSA-San Diego), Alive and Well carried me through the peaks and valleys of my own experience with HD.

My mother was diagnosed with HD in 1995 and died in 2006 at the age of 68. I tested positive in 1999; thankfully, I have yet to show any of HD’s classic symptoms. Our daughter tested negative in the womb and is today a thriving eighth grader.

In the first profile, of 19-year-old Heather Alimossy of Medford, OR, I saw how innocence is lost and life changed forever when someone tests positive for the HD mutation – confirmation that Heather will follow in the footsteps of her HD-afflicted mom.

As shown, Heather forges on in the quest to live a full life. She continues to ride her dirt bike – and she lovingly cares for her mother.

“I don’t want to regret anything,” she says, the film then showing her on a ride through the countryside.

Taking a chance

I was heartbroken by the story of Katy Bradley and her family, of Olympia, WA. Katy married Scott despite learning that his father had HD. At one point, the couple visited him in a nursing home in California.

“I knew by then, especially, what this could turn into,” Katy says. “I guess I took a chance.”

The couple refused let HD “ruin” their lives. They decided to bear children without Scott getting tested. However, without their knowing it, Scott passed on the HD gene to their son Matthew. Scott’s symptoms didn’t begin until well into his adult years, but Matthew developed juvenile HD as a toddler.

In a matter of a few years, Matthew’s symptoms worsened to the point where he was “in a constant state of seizure,” Katy says. “His brain is constantly firing.”

“Today’s it,” says Katy. “So let’s have fun today. So let’s do what we can. Let’s make muffins.”

The vignette finishes with people quietly attending Matthew’s burial. The couple’s small daughter Anna is also at risk for HD. Meanwhile, Scott continues to decline.

A very hopeful note

The other profiles in the film focus on Courtney Rifkin, a gene-positive woman shown climbing Mount Kilimanjaro to raise awareness about HD; Brooks and Dunn drummer Trey Gray, portrayed in his desperate struggle to maintain his skills after HD onset; Mandy Kipfer, a young woman who wants to start a family, filmed as she receives her HD-negative test result; and the middle-aged former NBC News war correspondent Charles Sabine, presented in his role as the HD community’s global advocate while striving to avoid onset.

I could empathize deeply with Trey, because I fear losing my ability to write. I felt terribly jealous of Mandy, although ultimately happy for her, because I want to be free from the shackles of HD. I felt strengthened by Courtney and Charles, because they refuse to give up and are willing to share their stories with the world.

During the film, I sat next to HDSA-San Diego president George Essig, whose extended family is affected by HD. He, too, was moved by Alive and Well.

“It’s been the best representation really of the disease I’ve seen on a variety of levels – physical, emotional, and in terms of the devastation,” George said afterwards, as the audience of 140 filed out of the theater.

The film features an original score plus songs from Radiohead, Pearl Jam, Fleet Foxes, and Sigur Ros. The overall effect is saddening but also upbeat.

“I would also say it has a very, very hopeful note,” George said.

HDSA-San Diego president George Essig with daughter Julia and wife Theresa at the screening of Alive and Well (photo by Gene Veritas)

Spreading the word

George added that he is “anxious to get copies out, because I think we could spread this virally as well as in movie theaters and a part of the whole education process and awareness process for the Huntington’s community.”

Alive and Well is not yet available on DVD and currently can only be viewed in small screenings, but event organizer Misty pledged to advocate for greater distribution of the film.

Alive and Well has shown in a number of other U.S. cities. Advocates can arrange for showings in their communities by contacting the Theatrical on Demand organization GATHR.

“We’re incredibly proud that Liz Weber and the team in Seattle developed this film,” said HDSA CEO Louise Vetter in a phone interview today. “There are a lot of multimedia tools to raise awareness about HD. We’re supportive of all the efforts.”

The producers aim to “bring the film to life” by encouraging HD families to share the opportunity to view it, Louise added. It’s also a way for HD community to “learn how to be alive and well with HD,” she said.

“That’s a very powerful effort,” she observed of the film’s promotion, which has relied heavily on social media. “They’ve been very committed to that grassroots effort from the beginning.”

In recent years, a number of advocates have been producing other films on the disease. Notable examples include: Chris Furbee’s just-completed, 89-minute Huntington’s Dance, chosen to appear at the 2014 edition of the highly competitive Slamdance Film Festival; Kristen Powers’ still- in-progress Twitch; and James Valvano’s still-in-progress The Huntington’s Disease Project: Removing the Mask.

(To read more on HD’s place in the news and entertainment media, click here.)

Yesterday, polio – tomorrow, HD?

Alive and Well begins – and ends – with a message of hope from Dr. Hayden.

“For each of us, we have to find our own passion,” he says at the outset. “That’s what makes life meaningful.”

We all can and must contribute, Dr. Hayden urges us.

“When you grow up in (apartheid) South Africa, you learn very quickly not to accept dogma,” he recalls of his youth in the closing minutes of the film.

Nobody believed HD existed in Africa, he adds. “Unfortunately, it’s alive and well throughout Africa.”

He recounts how, in conducting his Ph.D. research on HD in South Africa, he visited every mental hospital in the country to attempt to measure the frequency of HD among the populace.

Today Dr. Hayden is focused on the pathways to treatments that, although they may not cure the disease, could delay onset to offer people a longer life. (In 2012, Dr. Hayden became the president of global research and development and chief scientific officer for Teva Pharmaceuticals, Inc., a large, Israel-based drug firm, where he continues to promote HD research.)

“I’m really hopeful that we are going to be able to change the course of this illness,” he concludes, “and I think it’s in the near as opposed to distant future. I don’t know what ‘near’ is, but I’m convinced that with the … incredible donations of organs and blood and stories and financial support that’s come from so many quarters that we’ll be able to do something….

“Who would have thought in the late ‘50s there’d be treatment for polio? We can and will overcome this.”

Huntington’s disease in the news and entertainment media – Part II: A suicide on TV

I’m not going to die a slow death from Huntington’s. I’m not going the way my mother did…. It’s time, Amelia. I mean, I’ve had great food, great sex, great love in my life, and a great friend. I’m happy, and I’m ready. I need you to help me die.

With those words, 30-year-old Michelle, whose HD symptoms had recently started, asks her doctor to assist her in committing suicide.

Michelle and Amelia are fictional characters in the ABC television network’s evening drama Private Practice, but the scenes in which they act (broadcast on October 27, 2011) represent the stark psychological reality of HD patients, untested at-risk individuals, and gene-positive people like me.

According to a 2005 landmark study of HD and the risk of suicide conducted by the international Huntington’s Study Group (HSG), HD patients commit suicide an estimated seven to 200 times more often than the general population, although the data are complex because of the diverse scientific methodologies employed in the research. “Indeed, our current ability to predict actual suicide is poor,” the study states (click here to read more).

A 2010 article by Dutch medical school professor Raymund Roos reported that after pneumonia, the leading cause of death in HD patients is suicide.

Other studies have demonstrated that suicide risk increases around the time of genetic testing for HD (click here to see one example).

In the Private Practice episode, Michelle goes through with her plan, only to change her mind when an injection applied by Amelia leaves her unable to breathe. After her revival in a hospital emergency room, Michelle makes another attempt, this time alone. Amelia discovers her dead body on top of a bed with an open bottle of pills at her side.

Disturbing thoughts

This was an even more painful depiction of HD in the popular media than, as I described in Part I of this two-part series, the Dear Prudence column recounting the story of a young mom who learned just days after the birth of her son that her mother-in-law had HD. That news signified that the father and the baby were also at risk for HD, putting the dad and possibly the son in the difficult situation of requiring a genetic test. In the article I recalled my own anxiety-ridden process of decision-making, which led to my positive test for HD in June 1999 and, six months later, my daughter’s negative test in the womb.

Thinking about the Private Practice episode stirs up disturbing recollections of my suicidal thoughts in the years before and after my genetic test, although not at the moment of the test itself.

My mother had been diagnosed with HD in 1995. Distressed, I watched her revert to a childlike state. I remember vividly how, during one of her visits at our San Diego condo, she ate with her hands. She was also rapidly losing the ability to speak.

“I don’t want to be a gimp,” I remember angrily telling myself, fearing that I might have the HD gene and would become severely disabled.

A farewell ceremony

As a Catholic, I had grown up with the belief that suicide was a sin. As an adult, I still considered it wrong as well as a terrible waste of a human life, no matter what the condition of the person. Life was a gift from God, and only God could take it away.

But HD so relentlessly destroyed my mother’s humanity that I began to think differently about suicide.

On several occasions I declared to my wife that I would rather end my life than face HD symptoms.

I especially feared losing my ability to pursue my greatest passions, reading and writing.

I created a film in my mind in which I invited my closest friends and my wife to a farewell ceremony after which I would, like Socrates, drink a cup of poison.

With a mixture of fear and bravado, I even told my wife about this plan.

Whenever we spoke about HD, she would offer words of hope. However, she kept silent on the topic of suicide. I could tell by the look in her eyes that these declarations scared her.

A devastating option

On the day I received my HD test results in 1999, my wife and I entered a state of emotional shock. As I pulled my new Corolla out of the clinic parking garage, I became distracted and scraped the right fender against a column.

But I did not think of suicide.

I was angry – but also filled with a resolve to fight back. Testing positive for HD changed my life forever. It cast upon me a pall of fear and anxiety, but it also energized me to live life to the fullest.

In the next few years, thoughts of suicide lingered for a while but eventually left my conscious self.

The birth of our HD-negative “miracle baby” in June 2000 – just a few weeks after the first anniversary of my positive test – transformed my thinking about HD and suicide.

First of all, I was so overjoyed at her arrival, and then so busy helping care for her, that I had much less time for dwelling on HD.

Secondly, my fatherly instinct kicked in. With a family to love and support, and who unconditionally lent me their love and support, I began to see the absurdity of committing suicide – at least while I was still free of symptoms.

As I wrote a few years later, “Suicide would spare my family an exhausting, financially ruinous burden. I would not suffer like the HD patients I recently saw at a nursing home, writhing uncontrollably, wearing diapers, belted in a special chair or confined to a padded room. But a suicide would devastate my daughter.”

Dredging up difficult feelings

So I buried thoughts of killing myself. I also channeled much of my anxiety into an increasing level of advocacy work for the Huntington’s Disease Society of America.

After my mother died in February 2006, I became paralyzed by the fear of onset. For nearly nine months, I did not write in this blog.

Yet I had no fantasies of suicide during that long and dark night, although I most certainly thought about death every day.

Since then, I have gained psychological stability and worked hard to avoid symptoms. Surely luck plays a part in the fact that I am approaching my mother’s age of clear onset without any classical signs of HD.

But watching and then reflecting on the Private Practice episode dredged up the difficult recollections I am sharing with you here.

Analyzing Private Practice

I tracked a debate among some members of the HD Facebook community about the pros and cons of the episode, especially regarding whether it accurately portrays the reality of HD people. A number criticized the program for focusing on suicide, while others welcomed the exposure HD received.

Private Practice is actually just the latest in a line of TV productions about HD stretching back to the 1960s. For a detailed explanation of that history, you can click here to watch a video of the keynote speaker at the 2009 HD research conference sponsored by the CHDI Foundation, Inc., the so-called “cure HD initiative,” backed by wealthy, anonymous donors.

The Private Practice episode uses HD as a vehicle to demonstrate the dilemma experienced by physician Amelia in her decision to assist Michelle with suicide.

To the extent that it portrays HD and suicide, I believe the episode is fairly accurate. I very much identified with Michelle’s fears of turning out like her mother. Like her, I frequently thought of planning a suicide for a moment in my life when I could still properly say good-bye.

Suicide as preoccupation

Cleary, as the HSG and Roos articles point out, thoughts of suicide preoccupy many HD people in the at-risk, gene-positive, and affected categories.

Based on a study of “suicidal ideation” in 4,171 individuals in the HSG database, the HSG study determined several critical periods for suicide in HD: the time leading up to diagnosis, onset and the start of early “soft” symptoms (when people can still actually plan a suicide), and the period in which patients lose the ability to perform such tasks as driving and become dependent on others for daily living.

In contrast with popular belief, the HSG report emphasizes that getting diagnosed actually reduces suicidal thoughts: “Receiving a diagnosis of a devastating fatal disease does not exacerbate, and may even alleviate, the risk of suicide.”

Dramatizing HD

We need to keep in mind that Private Practice is entertainment – not a documentary.

Clearly the creators of the program compressed Michelle’s experience into an extremely short period of time in order to dramatize the symptoms of HD.

All humans have a huntingtin gene with a series of components known as CAG repeats. Healthy people have ten to 29 repeats. Forty or more repeats signify that a person will develop HD. In general, the higher the repeats, the younger the onset.

My mother had 40 repeats, and so do I. Evidence demonstrates that this level of defect will lead a person to develop the disease roughly between his or her late forties and mid-fifties.

Michelle has 43 repeats and already has strong symptoms at age 30 – possible but unlikely.

She occasionally displays dance-like movements in her arms, a sign of the classic symptom of HD known as chorea. Amelia describes her as having “tremors, rigidity, seizures.”

Symptoms, but no hope

In debating assisted suicide with fellow physicians, Amelia points out that Michelle’s prognosis is not good. “What if you were seizing and drooling and losing control of your muscles, of your bowels, of your mind?” she says. “Would you want to stick around for that?”

Another doctor counters that Michelle is still “lucid” and “functional” and can get assistance from a support group and other HD services.

These symptoms appear to be accurate, at least in the long haul of an HD person’s existence.

However, as I observed about the Dear Prudence column, the Private Practice episode also fails to note the immense gains in research that would certainly give someone like Michelle reason to hope for a treatment or even a cure in her lifetime.

Ending a life

On the day of the incident, Michelle lies on a couch as Amelia prepares to administer the medications that will halt her life. Amelia explains that after Michelle dies, she will call the police. She warns Michelle she might end up in an irreversible coma.

“I don’t want to get you in trouble,” Michelle says with worry in her voice.

“I don’t want you to suffer,” Amelia responds sorrowfully but with determination to help her friend.

After the aborted first attempt with Amelia’s help, Michelle expresses doubt about her decision to die. She displays an apparently renewed desire to live, and even a bit of humor in a conversation with Amelia.

However, apparently still despondent about her situation, she ends her life.

Testing and planning for the future

The program and especially the research articles about HD can serve as an important starting point for the HD community to discuss openly one of the most difficult of issues: suicide. As the program illustrates, for an HD person and his or her physician, assisted suicide involves questions of health but also of moral values.

As I pointed out in the article on Dear Prudence, gene-positive individuals can contribute immensely to the quest for treatments and a cure.

After testing, I became “Gene Veritas,” the truth in my genes. If you are an at-risk individual, you can discover your own truth – and plan for it accordingly.

I believe that in my personal case, I would have had more suicidal thoughts had I not been tested.

Obviously, a decision to test is a highly personal one. But, with the increased understanding of HD resulting from research, it’s time for our community to see it in a new light.

Feeling mortal

At the same time, I admit that I deeply fear the moment of onset. I realize – from reading the HSG study but also in consulting my heart – that the fear of becoming a “gimp” could potentially lead me to act like Michelle.

We all deny death on a daily basis. Without that denial, we couldn’t function as individuals and as a civilization.

After my mother’s diagnosis, I was forced to confront the idea of a horrible, early death. I have learned to become especially skillful in my use of denial.

But how will I perceive my life when the inevitable onset begins? I dread that moment.

Watching Private Practice and writing about it have once again left me feeling painfully insecure – and mortal.

Huntington’s disease and the financial jitters

As I’ve written before, living with the deadly gene for Huntington’s disease is like a high-wire act. Fearful that HD’s terrible symptoms could start any time, I walk the tightrope while juggling job, family, HD advocacy and, along with my wife, our finances.

As I have described in a number of articles since beginning this blog in January 2005, HD is a killer of dreams. Although the threat of HD has caused me to grow in many ways and to enjoy life more fully, it has also led us to abandon many plans, including having a second child after we went through the trauma of testing our first baby in the womb. (She tested negative and today is a healthy eleven-year-old.)

If it weren’t for the specter of HD, which took my mother’s life in 2006, I could have advanced much further in my career. My wife and I could focus on saving for retirement rather than building up an “HD war chest” to compensate for the deep losses in income expected after the onset of symptoms forces me to stop working in the near future.

I’m almost 52, the age at which my mom already had symptoms.

Turning the crisis to our favor

The fear of HD has caused us to fret about our finances. We agonize over big purchases, and even bigger decisions such as refinancing our home turn into weeks- and even months-long discussions.

Our fears increased greatly in the recession that began in late 2007 and got much worse in 2008.

Like many Americans, we were reeling from the stock market crash, which eroded our savings. We were stunned at both the enormity of the crisis and the massive stimulus program, financed with borrowing from foreign sources.

But, hopeful about a recovery, we sought to turn the short-term crisis to our long-term advantage.

In 2009, during the early months of the administration of President Barack Obama, we took advantage of extremely low interest rates to refinance the mortgage, taking out extra money to build a swimming pool and carry out other home improvements. (I jokingly referred to the project as the “Obama stimulus pool.”) The risk was well worth it: the huge savings from the lower interest rate made the pool affordable, and I took up swimming again to bolster my brain against HD onset.

Economic pain

In a state with a real unemployment rate of more than 20 percent, we were thankful to have jobs.

However, we started to feel the economic pain not long after we took our first swim in the pool. For the first time in nearly two decades as a university professor, I received no raise during the 2009-2010 academic year. The next year my wife, a teacher in the San Diego school district, took a 3.7 percent pay cut that remains in effect. Like many others facing pay freezes and cuts, we’re also paying more for benefits.

To compensate for the lost pay, the school district cut five days off the school year and cut hundreds of millions of dollars from its budget. Now, with California sinking ever deeper into crisis and forcing additional school cuts of tens of millions of dollars, the San Diego district leadership may cancel even more classes. Last week, the superintendent declared that the district might need to declare itself insolvent. Teachers will likely face further salary cuts.

As we feared yet another drop in family income, my wife and I also worried about the quality of education our daughter is receiving in the public schools. We quickly became frustrated with the middle school that she entered in September. Class sizes are large (36 per class), and the school does not offer placement tests to ensure that all students have access to the proper level of instruction. It offers only a few honors sections.

Frustrated and convinced that the school crisis will last for many years, my wife and I decided that our daughter will apply to private schools.

Extending beyond our reach?

Annual tuition and other expenses at these schools could cost as much as $30,000. To afford it, we would need to forfeit all saving for retirement – the biggest portion of our HD war chest. Because we put pre-tax dollars into retirement, every dollar we stopped saving would be taxed at about a third. That would make the real cost of the most expensive private school closer to $40,000.

That was getting well beyond our reach, especially when we also need to save for our daughter’s college expenses.

Once again, we decided to refinance our mortgage in order to borrow enough money to pay for about half the cost of six years of private school (grades 7 through 12).

Because we refinanced for the pool, this time we must max out on the mortgage: we will be borrowing about 75 percent of the value of the home. We bought the house in 1999 and saw its value more than double during the real estate boom of the early to mid-2000s. Even in today’s depressed market, it’s still worth about two thirds more than the original price, thus allowing us to take out substantial cash upon refinancing.

In addition, interest rates have dropped to near historic lows. We’ll have a rate below 4 percent – a bargain when compared to forfeiting saving for retirement and the HD war chest.

Risk exposure

Nevertheless, unlike the pool project, this round of refinancing has left me with the jitters. Taking out such a big loan, with a mortgage payment of hundreds of dollars more per month, conjures up memories of how little disposable income we had after our first property purchase in 1994. That was before we learned that my mom had HD.

The future of our economy seems even more uncertain than it did in 2009.

And I worry about exposing the family to too much financial risk precisely as I progress towards the probable onset of HD.

In fact, as I write this article, it seems like sheer lunacy!

How will we pay for private school and a bigger mortgage, save for our daughter’s college and our retirement, build the HD war chest, and run the household if I must go on state long-term disability, which would pay, at most, only 65 percent of my salary (this income, at least, would be tax-free) and run out after age 65? I might be able to supplement disability with Social Security and Medicare benefits, but, as I wrote earlier this year, HD people struggle to obtain, and are sometimes even denied, those benefits.

Helping while I can

It’s a huge gamble – but one that we feel we must take.

It only makes sense when I remember that we are providing for one of the best investments in our daughter’s future: an excellent education.

Born HD-negative, she was our “miracle baby.”

But she is no longer that baby. She stands on the verge of adolescence – and is now only five years away from filling out her college applications.

She is HD-free, but could still feel the disease's impact because of the stark possibility that I could become disabled and therefore less able to support her during her high school and college years

I desperately await news of the key research breakthrough that will save me from the dementia and other devastating symptoms of HD. I want to see my daughter graduate from college and build a life of her own.

If HD prevents me from enjoying those moments, I will at least have done my part to help her get there while I could still help.