Savoring 20 years of my Huntington’s disease blog

 

This month I am celebrating the 20 years of this blog.

 

I began At Risk for Huntington’s Disease on January 10, 2005, wanting to “squeeze as much life into my days as possible” before experiencing the debilitating HD symptoms that led to my mother’s death a year later. Because I lived in what I called the “terrible and lonely HD closet” – fearful of genetic discrimination – I used the pseudonym “Gene Veritas,” “the truth in my genes.” That name reflected the fact that I had tested positive for the HD gene in 1999.

 

My mother died at 68, after two decades of debilitating symptoms, which was very painful to watch.

 

I turned 65 last month. By this age, I had expected to have full-blown HD, which would have left me unable to work, drive, or write.

 

But, according to my latest neurological checkup, I don’t yet have apparent HD symptoms!

 

In general, the more abnormal the gene, the earlier the age of disease onset. My mother and I have the same gene mutation, suggesting a similar disease path. However, although my mother’s symptoms started in her late 40s, one or more modifier genes, the functions of which were discovered a decade ago, have perhaps delayed my disease onset.

 

This article is number 336. Each day of good health is a blessing.

 

Gene Veritas (aka Kenneth P. Serbin) with his blog (photo by Regina Serbin)

 

The impact

 

In 2012, I exited the HD closet by publishing an essay – and using my real name, Kenneth P. Serbin – in The Chronicle of Higher Education. It was titled “Racing Against the Genetic Clock.” Going public opened new vistas of advocacy and enabled me to blog with greater transparency.

 

In December 2022. I published a detailed analysis of the blog in “Striving for a Realistic and Unapologetic View of Huntington’s Disease” in the Journal of Huntington’s Disease. It described how the blog has helped give voice to the HD community by exploring the major challenges faced by HD families, becoming a key reference for those families, and chronicling the quest to defeat the disorder.

 

As I observed, the blog has also “helped document the new and harrowing experience of living in the gray zone between a genetic test result and disease onset.”

 

At Risk for HD has addressed multiple topics including advocacy, caregiving, family trauma, coping strategies, genetic testing, discrimination, leaving the HD closet, participation in research and clinical trials, as well as religion, faith, and spirituality.

 

When my mother was diagnosed with HD in 1995 – two years after the discovery of the gene – little hope existed for treatments that could slow the progression of HD. However, in the past decade, advances in academic labs and biopharma firms have led to key clinical trials that show potential for affecting the course of HD and perhaps even a cure (click here to read more).

Telling the story of those complex developments has become a major focus of At Risk for HD. With the growing number of research projects, I have necessarily highlighted those that appear closest to producing actual drugs such as the Roche gene silencing program, which I have covered extensively.

 

In 2021, the first Roche trial showed lack of efficacy. In 2023 Roche started enrolling volunteers in a more focused trial to see if the drug might work at least in some patients. Other key trials are in progress or being planned.

 

Hoping for an HD-free world, savoring life

 

Writing the entries of At Risk for HD has given me great meaning and purpose, which researchers have identified as increasing well-being and positively impacting the course of the disease.

 

For now, I plan to continue blogging as long health permits – and until the quest for a cure is complete.

 

In February, I hope to attend the crucial 20th Annual HD Therapeutics Conference at the Parker Hotel in Palm Springs, CA. The conference is sponsored by CHDI Foundation, Inc., the largest private funder of HD research.

 

In 2011, I delivered the conference keynote speech before 250 scientists, physicians, and biopharma reps – a decisive step towards my complete exit from the closet in 2012 and chronicled in this blog.

 

I have described the conference as the “Super Bowl of HD research,” covered in many blog articles and videos of scientists (see, for example, this one).

 

With the rest of the HD community, I hope for the announcement of effective treatments. I very much look forward to reporting on progress.

 

Just as important is the need to savor life – another key lesson of my journey with the HD community, this blog, and my friends and family.

Blog article No. 300: who exactly is Gene Veritas?

 

On January 10, 2005, I began the first post in this blog with a simple but consequential sentence: “My name is Gene Veritas and I am at risk for Huntington’s disease.”

 

Today, 16 years and two months later, after my mother’s death from Huntington’s at age 68 in 2006 and my own long struggle to avoid disease onset, I am writing my 300th post.

 

Now 61, I never expected to get this far. Starting in her late 40s, my mother’s symptoms left her progressively unable to care for herself and ultimately bedridden. And I inherited from her the same degree of mutation in the huntingtin gene – which I long thought portended the same fate.

 

As I have noted often in recent years, I feel extremely lucky to remain asymptomatic. Although there is (as yet) no genetic test available to individuals to pinpoint the reason, researchers have discovered key modifier genes that slow or hasten onset among people with identical mutations (click here to read more). Also, as doctors and researchers have observed, my efforts to lead a healthy lifestyle likely have also helped.

 

In the early years of the blog, writing under the protection of my Gene Veritas pseudonym, I focused mainly on my family’s struggles with the many medical and psychosocial ramifications of HD. More recently, with the tremendous advances in HD research of the past decade, I have emphasized the science and the advent of crucial clinical trials. Those trials have brought unprecedented hope for the HD community.

 

However, in the whirlwind of HD advocacy and writing, I have not paused to reflect on the deeper meaning of my alias. Even after I went fully public as Kenneth P. Serbin nine years ago in an article in The Chronicle of Higher Education, I am still widely known in the HD community as Gene Veritas.

 

I have relished explaining a pen name that has become my trademark. In my HD work, I actually prefer the pseudonym, which not only intrigues people but also instantly focuses our interaction on the profound implications of Huntington’s.

 

To mark my blogging milestone, I thus want to clarify two things: who exactly is Gene Veritas? And what does that name mean?

 

A college professor and family man

 

Huntington’s, as a 100-percent genetic disorder, always involves stories about families.

 

After the news of my mother’s diagnosis blindsided my wife Regina and me in late 1995, our life plans changed dramatically. A future as my potential caregiver has loomed over Regina ever since. She is ever thankful about my delayed onset.

 

We forged ahead as best we could. Over the past two decades, we have brought our HD-free daughter Bianca to the threshold of adulthood. Bianca expects to graduate from college in 2022.

 

I am in my 28th year as a history professor at the University of San Diego, and Regina works as an instructional coordinator for the San Diego Unified School District.

 

As a family, we have been active in the local chapter of the Huntington’s Disease Society of America. In 2017, we traveled to Rome for one of the most extraordinary moments in our journey with HD, “HDdennomore: Pope Francis’ Special Audience with the Huntington’s Disease Community in Solidarity with South America.”

 

In the doctor-recommended enrichment and exercise that I practice, I have included the canine member of our family, our cockapoo Lenny, with long walks on diverse routes through our neighborhood.

 

Gene Veritas (aka Kenneth P. Serbin) with wife Regina, daughter Bianca, and dog Lenny (family photo)

 

Representing our common struggles

 

I began this blog under “Gene Veritas” because I lived in the “terrible and lonely HD closet,” fearing discrimination on the job and in healthcare and insurance matters. I built what I have described as an “absolute firewall” between my HD reality and the rest of my life.

 

In February 2011, I took a major step out of that closet by delivering the keynote speech at the “Super Bowl” of HD research, the Sixth Annual Huntington’s Disease Therapeutics Conference, sponsored by CHDI Foundation, Inc., the nonprofit virtual biotech solely dedicated to finding HD treatments. It was held in Palm Springs, CA.

 

About 250 prominent scientists, physicians, drug company representatives, and others listened to my speech, which was titled “Blog Entry 85 … Unmasking the World of Gene Veritas: An Activist Copes with the Threat of Huntington’s Disease.” (I referred to an “entry” instead of “post,” because of the diary-like nature of the blog in the early, anonymous years. Now I use the term “article,” because the posts have become more in-depth and sometimes run several thousand words or more.)

 

As I wrote in an article about that key moment, despite revealing my real name to the audience, my penname “‘Gene Veritas’ will still live on in cyberspace.[…] Through its anonymity and universality, it symbolizes the common struggles of families threatened by HD and numerous other neurological and genetic diseases.”

 

Indeed, in many talks since then I have introduced myself with both my real name and pseudonym.

 

‘The truth in my genes’

 

I explain to people that “Gene Veritas” means “the truth in my genes.”

 

A “gene” is a sequence of DNA, the code that programs our development as humans and gives us particular characteristics. “Veritas” is Latin for “truth.”

 

The truth of my future lies in the mutant huntingtin gene that I inherited from my mother.

 

I also have a personal connection to “veritas”: it forms part of the motto “lux et veritas” (light and truth) on the seal of my alma mater, Yale University.

 

The connection to Yale bubbled up from my subconscious while I was searching for a pseudonym. Surely Yale also came to mind because of the solidarity, advice, and assistance I have received from fellow alumni (click here, here, and here to read more).

 

As one observed, because of the devastation caused by HD, the pseudonym can also represent a grim pun on the school motto.

 

We are all Gene Veritas

 

On March 8, I participated in an online interview conducted by HD global advocate Charles Sabine and Simon Noble, Ph.D., CHDI’s communications director. They wanted to learn more about the Gene Veritas facet of my life.

 

Dr. Noble asked me whether I had an alter ego and other identities, in line with the ideas of 2010 keynoter and graphic novelist Steven Seagle, who has addressed his family’s way of confronting Huntington’s by juxtaposing the reality of disabling HD with the fantasy of Superman.

 

“Gene Veritas” is my alter ego, I said.

 

So, Dr. Noble wanted to know, how did the Gene Veritas alter ego protect me? Did it allow me to do other things? Did I become a different person in some respect? Were there positives to being Gene Veritas?

 

“Absolutely,” I responded. “Being anonymous for so many years allowed me to be completely honest about Huntington’s disease. Those first years of the blog were a complete explosion of HD honesty – talking about the feelings, talking about the discrimination, talking about the anger, the hurt, the pain, worrying about my mother, seeing my mother die from the disease. Those early years were really, really hard.”

 

This blog and “Gene Veritas” have also served as coping mechanisms, I added, and they allowed me to build awareness about HD.

 

“But how to build awareness anonymously?” I continued. “It’s like a contradiction in terms. That’s why ‘Gene Veritas’ became so important, because I was somebody. I couldn’t be Ken Serbin, but I could be Gene Veritas.”

 

Pondering further the universality of my pseudonym, I observed: “It’s my story, but it’s really the story of the HD community. Anybody could be Gene Veritas in the HD community. Because I think we’ve all been at one point or another a kind of Gene Veritas, at least when we first find out about Huntington’s. It’s representative. It’s something that has a broad meaning to it.”

 

Writing the history of the HD movement

 

In this blog, my CHDI keynote, and other speeches, I have documented the new and harrowing human experience of living in the gray zone between a genetic test result and onset of a disease.

 

In my CHDI speech, I showed a slide with a simple breakdown of main blog topics to that point. Information about the disease and research was the leading topic, followed by articles on my mother, fear of onset, and coping.

 

I will do a more fine-grained content analysis of posts for an academic article on the blog as a coping mechanism, fount of information for the HD community, and source of insight into the fight against HD and the search for therapies. I will submit the article to a scientific or medical journal.

 

I am also planning a book on the history of the Huntington’s disease cause, tentatively titled “Racing Against the Genetic Clock: A History of the Huntington’s Disease Movement and the Biomedical Revolution.” The blog will serve as a considerable primary source (a document or other material produced by a participant in a historical event) for my research and/or future historians of the HD cause.

 

In academic year 2021-2022, I will dedicate an expected sabbatical (a leave from teaching and other on-campus duties) to the book project. I will consult researchers, physicians, and members of the HD community about the key themes.

 

I earnestly hope to recount in this blog and my book the achievement of effective treatments for HD.

‘Crying a few million tears’ for the fallen victims of Huntington’s disease

Huntington’s disease relentlessly attacks the brains of its victims and in other ways wearies many of us involved: advocates, caregivers, gene carriers like myself awaiting onset, young people pondering genetic testing.

Knowing at 56 how fortunate I am to have remained healthy beyond my deceased mother’s age of onset, I took a “break” from advocacy over the summer. (Click here to read more).

However, on October 24 the hard reality of HD hit home once again.

Responding to a request from the Huntington’s Disease Society of America (HDSA) for information on this blog’s impact in the “landscape of HD communication,” that morning I wrote a long e-mail detailing how At Risk for Huntington’s Disease has reached thousands of people via both the web and Facebook.

Since I began writing in January 2005, the blog’s 230 articles have garnered more than 650,000 page views. More than 3,200 Facebook friends also have access to the blog in 60 HD-related groups.

“I think one of the most important aspects of the blog has been the wide range of topics it has covered: my family's struggles with the disease (mother dying, me testing positive, [my daughter] testing negative, etc.), the many social implications of the disease, advocacy issues, and the search for treatments,” I observed.

Reviewing the blog’s history reminded me of many painful moments in my struggle and of the HD community's collective suffering.

A nervous stumble

That afternoon, I had my annual HD checkup with a neurologist.

As with past checkups, in the hours before the visit, I became apprehensive about my performance on the various neurological tests.

One involves walking heel-to-toe along a straight line. This year I began that test with a bit of a nervous stumble. I wondered if that might be an early sign of onset.

I regained my balance and successfully completed the walk. I was going to suggest to the doctor that I repeat it, but she told me that I had done fine.

The other tests also went well.

Fortunately, she once again declared me symptom-free.

Tensing up at support group

Naturally, I felt greatly relieved.

However, I faced yet another challenging HD moment that evening: the annual research update at our local support group, from Jody Corey-Bloom, M.D., Ph.D., the director of the HDSA Center of Excellence for Family Services and Research at the University of California, San Diego.

Each year I record Dr. Corey-Bloom’s talk, later posted here and on Facebook. Striving to produce a video of good quality, I tensed up as I focused in and out and turned the camera to follow Dr. Corey-Bloom’s movements. This was vital information for the HD community.

With the rest of the audience, I intently listened to her presentation of the latest research breakthroughs and news of the crucial clinical trials that provide hope for effective treatments and perhaps even a cure. The update included a detailed discussion of the historic gene-silencing Phase I trial by Ionis Pharmaceuticals, Inc. (Click here to read more about the Ionis trial.)

Given the many projects in progress, Dr. Corey-Bloom spoke for 90 minutes, her longest update ever.

Seeing HD-affected support group attendees reminded me of my good fortune but also of the inevitability of my own onset, if a treatment isn’t found.

You can watch Dr. Corey-Bloom’s update in the video below.

Update on Huntington’s Disease Research 2016: A Presentation by Dr. Jody Corey-Bloom from Gene Veritas on Vimeo.

‘A life-long Holocaust’

Still pondering the exhausting moments of October 24, the next morning I was jolted by a powerful comment on my September 15 article "Dreams for a better future: an opportunity we Huntington’s disease people and our families are denied."

The words speak for themselves:

I am in nearly the same situation as the author of this blog. I am now 59 years old and will be 60 in February. Huntington's Disease killed my father & half my family. My sister is dying now in an extremely horrible case where she is burning so many calories that she looks like a skeleton. I have actually had continual muscle contractions all my life since I was about 25 years old, but nothing else. I've been able to live my life and work and function normally (although, I never married or had children). I've wondered my entire life when it would happen to me. Now, at almost 60, I wonder if this is it, and this is all that will happen, and I wonder why. Why did it kill so many people in my family and not me?

I can't really imagine a more horrible experience in a family. I had a doctor once tell me that he had never seen a single person come out of a Huntington's family who wasn't emotionally damaged for life. He described it as a kind of "life-long Holocaust" where you live your entire life watching one persona after another die the most horrible deaths, and unlike the Jews, you don't have anyone you can blame.

I have cried a few million tears in my life, but now approaching 60, I am able to see some things I could not have seen years ago. I look at myself and my family, and I realize that none of us are the people we would have been without this disease. We all became so much "more." We all learned to truly "see" people, to feel empathy with all people suffering, to appreciate all the small moments and the good things in life. We all embarked on a life-long journey to find meaning and to understand our place and purpose in this world. And, when I look around and see all the various kinds of suffering in this world, it makes me think that maybe this has always been the reason and the purpose for it – to cause us to become "more."

These words not only rekindled my desire to defeat HD; most importantly, they also inspired compassion.

Sarah falls to HD

A diagnosis for Huntington’s disease forever changes the lives of affected individuals and their families.

Without an effective treatment, thousands of people around the world continue to succumb to HD.

On October 17, Huntington’s took the life of 37-year-old Sarah Brook of Tamworth, England.

Many in the HD community became familiar with Sarah’s struggle on “Sarah’s Dream,” a Facebook page run by her mother Gail and stepfather Jeff. “Sarah’s Dream” is also the name of a motorcycle the family used in the effort to raise funds and awareness. According to Gail, Sarah’s first symptoms appeared in her early twenties. Sarah's father died of HD at the age of 35.

“This is the saddest time of my life,” Gail wrote on Facebook. “Nothing could compare to the loss and heartbreak I feel. […] It's the wrong way round, this shouldn't be happening. I can't bear the thought that I'll never see her again. I want to hold her so much.”

Sarah’s funeral took place on November 3. Her body was cremated.

“We've put her near the TV,” Gail wrote of Sarah’s ashes, held in an urn. “She's always liked her telly, and [we] will scatter them in the place she chose, when we feel ready.

Despite their enormous loss, Gail and Jeff will continue in the fight against HD.

“We've been married for 33 years and he adopted Sarah, knowing that she was at risk of HD,” Gail wrote me in a Facebook message. “We have agreed to carry on with Sarah's Dream, in memory of Sarah.”

We need to find a way to wipe away the tears of HD. Perhaps we can be heartened by the profound dedication to the cause displayed by Sarah's family.

Above, a collage of photos of Sarah Brook. Below, Jeff Brook riding Sarah's Dream (family photos).

Fighting – and writing – to stay healthy: ten years of 'At Risk for Huntington’s Disease'

Ten years ago today, I launched this blog to explore the depths of living at risk for Huntington’s disease and to unburden myself of the fear of its inevitable symptoms.

Frankly, I did not expect to still be writing at 55.

At that age, my mother had developed chorea (the involuntary movements associated with HD) and was experiencing serious emotional and cognitive symptoms that would soon prevent her from speaking and caring for herself. This year marks the sad 20^th anniversary of her official diagnosis. She died of HD in February 2006 at the age of 68.

I tested positive for the HD genetic mutation in 1999.

I strongly believe that my work on this blog – research, reflection, writing, advocacy, and networking – has helped me delay my own HD onset.

I cannot scientifically prove this, but evidence strongly suggests that mental stimuli and other forms of enrichment can positively affect the course of this disease and other neurodegenerative conditions.

Researchers have told me privately that they believe my mental activity has helped keep me stable. “Keep doing what you’re doing,” they say.

Gene Veritas with his tenth anniversary blog posting (photo by Gene Veritas)

Launching the blog

Life can be an emotional roller coaster. HD families ride the tallest and most twisted one, with HD gene carriers like me facing a terrifying descent into symptoms.

Starting in 2001, I wrote and edited Conquest, the tri-annual newsletter of the San Diego Chapter of the Huntington’s Disease Society of America. However, while revealing the stories of many HD-affected individuals and their families in Conquest, I never wrote about my own family’s plight.

I started At Risk at the urging of Norman Oder, a fellow Yale University graduate and colleague at the Yale Daily News.

As a young journalist in the 1980s, Norman by chance wrote an article about a New York area HD family. After we reconnected years later, he edited some of my Conquest articles. Coincidentally one told the story of that same family, part of which had moved to California.

In the early 2000s Norman and I brainstormed about how to increase media coverage of HD, including my own story, as a way to strengthen the cause and attract potential donors.

With that goal in mind, I initiated the blog to address the many complex issues faced by presymptomatic mutation carriers like me as well as untested at-risk individuals.

I didn’t realize at the time how much it would help me sort out my thoughts, engage with others in the HD community, and nudge HD activism. In February 2011, I examined this blog as an advocacy tool during my keynote of the Sixth Annual HD Therapeutics Conference, sponsored by the CHDI Foundation, Inc. In June 2011 I was named HDSA’s Person of the Year, an honor I never could have achieved without this forum. “I know, too, that this award is not just for me,” I wrote, “but for everybody affected by HD: the at-risk, the gene-positive, the symptomatic, the families, and the unsung heroes of America, the caregivers.”

From the start, Norman has applied his editing skills to virtually every article, almost always sending back revisions within a few hours. He has also suggested a number of topics and pushed me toward rigor when it’s tempting to just hope.

Norman is my “HD alter ego,” and a great friend.

(Later in 2005, Norman began his own long-running blog, a daily account of Brooklyn’s most controversial real-estate project, now called Atlantic Yards/Pacific Park Report.)

A stalwart supporter of my activism, my wife Regina has reflected with me on the content of numerous articles. Our daughter Bianca has witnessed me writing and posting articles. Now a teenager, she has a record she can consult of her grandmother’s demise and her father’s writing and coping strategies.

Explicitly and implicitly, Regina and Bianca permeate the pages of this blog. More than anything else, their presence and love motivate me to fight HD and to improve as a husband, father, and human being.

Gene Veritas (left, aka Kenneth Serbin), Norman Oder, and Regina Serbin (photo by Bianca Serbin)

Bringing hope

In that first year (2005), I wrote 17 articles. However, over the next three years I could only write 18 articles. I was distraught over the death of my mother from HD. I even acted out HD symptoms.

During those first four years, I focused primarily on my family’s struggles to care for my mother and how living with the gene affected my feelings and life.

With the help of my psychotherapist and a more effective set of medications for depression and anxiety, I started to turn the corner in late 2007.

In late 2007 I also wrote my first blog article about the potential of stem cell research for finding HD treatments. Along with other southern California advocates, I set up the very first presentations about Huntington’s disease before the state’s stem cell agency.

From that point on, the hope for treatments buoyed me emotionally and became a frequent theme of At Risk for Huntington’s Disease.

Expanding the research updates that I wrote for Conquest, I started doing on-the-scene reporting and in-depth interviews with researchers. In April 2008, I visited Isis Pharmaceuticals, Inc., in nearby Carlsbad, CA, to produce an article on the company’s ambitious efforts to stop HD very close to its genetic roots.

This year Isis will conduct the long-awaited Phase I clinical trial to test its potential gene-silencing drug.

Broad coverage

The blog expanded to cover many of the difficult issues impinging on the HD community, including abortion; advocacy for a congressional bill to update the government’s disability criteria for HD;  the difficult discussions young at-risk people face during dating; and the challenges of finding adequate nursing home care for HD patients.

“I really absolutely admire your bravery in exposing this disease in a realistic and unapologetic way,” wrote Stella, another HD blogger, in a comment on one of my articles. Such comments help keep me going.

Writing the blog helped me think through the process of going public about my HD status after nearly 15 years of advocating anonymously and seven years of blogging under the pseudonym “Gene Veritas,” which I maintain as a symbol of our community’s fight for the cure.

Now, as I meld my HD advocacy with the career of Kenneth P. Serbin the professional historian, I have come to view the blog as a primary historical document of the “new and harrowing human experience of living in the gray zone between a genetic test result and onset of a disease.”

An emotional vent

Above all, the blog is an emotional vent.

With you, my readers, I can share my feelings about facing a terrible, currently untreatable disease, build forces to defeat the profound stigma surrounding HD, and bolster advocacy to improve care and seek the cure.

Through At Risk for Huntington’s Disease – and the HD community I have reached on Facebook – I have gained many new brothers and sisters determined to survive HD and passionate about the noble aim of bettering humanity by solving a major medical and scientific puzzle.

Often, producing articles for the blog envelops me for hours and sometimes days as I research, travel, photograph, shoot video, write, revise, and post, and then engage with readers via e-mail and social media.

Sometimes I go to bed too late – not good for someone at risk for a disease that disturbs the body’s natural rhythms.

As I prepare to post an article, I experience a torrent of emotion, followed by a deep sense of relief.

The memories of twenty years of dealing with HD come flooding back, but in the end I have hope.

Awaiting effective treatments

This article is posting number 197 in At Risk for Huntington’s Disease.

I am grateful that very soon I will be able to post number 200.

Tonight I will raise a glass to the blog.

I know it’s still a long shot because of the inevitability of HD symptoms, but I want to remain healthy long enough to write the article celebrating the discovery of a treatment so effective that I can stop worrying about HD and retire the blog.

To strive or to chill? Seeking balance in the fight against Huntington’s disease

In late 1995, after I received the shocking news that my mother had Huntington’s disease, I decided to fight back for her by learning all that I could about this incurable disorder and also advocating for treatments and a cure.

Then, after testing positive for the HD gene in 1999, I sought to save myself by finding ways to stimulate my brain in order to stave off the inevitable neurological symptoms.

As I worked to maintain my health, my HD activism grew into a full, second career parallel to my professional work, and complicating my life as a husband and father.

Two views, two necessities

“Keep striving,” a close friend wrote recently after reading one of the articles in this blog, which, for seven years, has served as a chronicle of both my advocacy and strategies for avoiding HD and, in and of itself, has provided an escape valve for my frequent anxiety about the onset of symptoms (click here to read more).

I am living a very complex paradox. I must strive, but as I do, I also must avoid allowing my activism to exhaust me physically and emotionally.

As I wrote last year, I walk an HD tightrope that requires me to very judiciously balance all aspects of my life. One slip, and I could fall off the wire and plunge to disaster.

The past year has proved exhilarating but also psychologically trying, beginning with a major coming-out speech before world-renowned HD scientists last February and ending with wrenching articles about HD and suicide, abortion, and the deaths of two girls from juvenile HD.

“You need to chill more,” another close friend of 32 years has counseled me repeatedly throughout my journey with HD.

He recommends that I “chill” as an antidote to the striving. He recommends spending less time on work, writing, and the HD movement and more on the simple, relaxing things that I could enjoy: good food and wine, books, movies, conversation with friends, walks with the dog – or just plain doing nothing.

To strive or to chill? That’s the question I face each day.

The rhythm of life

In a memorable sermon during my college years, the pastor of St. Thomas More Chapel at Yale, Father Richard Russell, spoke of the need to “get into the rhythm of life.”

As an HD activist, I especially feel that need. When I achieve that rhythm, my existence feels like the alternating phases of the heart’s cycle – pumping and relaxing over and over again.

Over the past day, that’s exactly how I’ve approached HD and the rest of my life.

This past Saturday afternoon, my wife, our 11-year-old daughter, and I took an hour-long walk in the San Diego beach community of Pacific Beach. Couples and families like us strolled, while more adventurous people on bikes or roller skates weaved in and out. The 70-degree sun bathed us all. We dined on Greek fare at our favorite restaurant, followed by frozen yogurt.

Late at night I worked on this article. This weekend, I had consciously chosen not to write on a difficult topic. I wanted to “chill.”

While I wrote, I couldn’t forget how during the previous night I chatted on Facebook for an hour, trying to help a person recently shocked by the revelation of HD in her large, extended family.

Last night I turned off the computer without finishing the article. I read for a while before turning in.

This morning, I walked door-to-door with my daughter as she sold Girl Scout cookies in the neighborhood.

What a great feeling! Watching her take charge of the sales, I recognized how much more mature and confident she has become.

I forgot not only about HD, but all my other cares.

Now, after lunch, I sit again at the computer, contemplating how I must stay in the rhythm and find the right balance between striving and chilling.

Enjoying the ride

It’s nerve-wracking to wait and wonder when and how the individual symptoms will start, especially because, at 52, I have reached the age at which my mother had already developed symptoms.

I sometimes become impatient about the rate of progress towards treatments and a potential cure.

Sometimes my fear provokes megalomaniacal thoughts about striving against HD, as if I’m a lone knight battling a fire-breathing dragon.

Then I remind myself that I cannot singlehandedly defeat this disease.

We all must get into the rhythm together: patients, asymptomatic gene-positive individuals like me, caregivers, physicians, and researchers.

And we all need to take a break from striving in order to chill.

As one of my California HD Facebook friends likes to say: when matters get rough, “go surfing!”

I don’t surf, but the thought of the power, immensity, and majesty of the ocean brings home the point: I control only a very small part of my destiny, and I might as well enjoy my ride on earth.