The definitive step out of the Huntington’s closet

Today I take my most definitive step out of the terrible and lonely “Huntington’s closet”: using my real name, I have published an article about my struggle against HD in a mainstream media outlet.

Titled “Racing Against the Genetic Clock: A historian carrying the gene for Huntington’s disease hopes to galvanize increased support for brain research,” the article appears in today’s online edition of The Chronicle of Higher Education. It will also appear in the November 9 print edition.

“Scholars often shift focus over the course of a career to pursue a discovery, a new job, or a need for variety,” begins the article, which explains my exploration of the history of science as a way to expand both my advocacy and career. “For me, it was learning that I will, at some point, develop a terrifying, untreatable, fatal brain disorder.”

With great sadness, I wrote of my mother’s demise, the discovery that I had inherited the HD gene from her, and my ongoing advocacy to raise awareness and increase funding for research towards treatments.

“At 52, I have reached my mother's age of onset,” I conclude. “I cherish each moment of health. As I contemplate my intellectual legacy, I encourage others to join the race to protect our most important natural resource – our brains – and strive for a world in which science conquers disease.”

You can read the full article by clicking here.

For the public, and in my professional circles, I willingly share that that Gene Veritas is Kenneth P. Serbin. I will still write this blog as “Gene Veritas” (the “truth in my genes”), my trademark in the HD world, the persona that in many ways symbolizes the struggles of our community and, indeed, all disease-gene carriers.

Gene Veritas, aka Kenneth P. Serbin, at Alnylam Pharmaceuticals in 2011.

An arduous and painful transition

I had hid in the HD closet ever since my mother’s diagnosis in late 1995.

Many times I wanted to shout out to the world about my mom’s terrible downfall and my own potentially frightening future with the disease, but, fearful of genetic discrimination, I always kept quiet, swallowing my difficult feelings about HD.

In 2010, however, after the passage of federal health care and anti-genetic discrimination legislation, I started making public speeches about my predicament.

My gradual exit from the HD closet has proved arduous and painful.

On October 25, the day I received the news of my article’s acceptance for publication, and for a few days thereafter, I felt especially overwhelmed and apprehensive.

I thought of how tens of thousands of Chronicle subscribers will have access to my article, and many more people may read it by simply viewing it for free on the publication’s website.

Above all, I worried about how to tell my co-workers and superiors. With the Chronicle article, I will be deliberately demolishing the near-perfect firewall that I painstakingly constructed between my professional life and HD advocacy.

Some may be shocked to learn of this hidden dimension of my life, and they will likely worry about me, too.

Luckily, when I inform them about the article, I’ll also tell them that my latest checkup with my neurologist, on October 30, ended with a clean bill of health on the HD front. I’m not required to do so, but, after revealing the terrible symptoms I could suffer, I also want them to know of my success so far in remaining asymptomatic (click here to read more).

Controlling my own story

In the last few days, however, I achieved a sense of calm, and, in the final hours before the publication, even a bit of jubilation.

I’ve been able to rely on my wife, close friends, and members of the HD Facebook community for moral support.

In anticipation of the article’s appearance, I actively sought their advice about how to reveal the article to my colleagues. They’ve all helped me put this moment in perspective.

For those who advised against coming out, I’ve described the Chronicle piece as a “preemptive strike.” Rather than let others learn about my HD status by stumbling upon it on the Internet, hearing through the rumor mill, or becoming aware only when my symptoms start, I am taking the initiative to “control the narrative of my own story” about HD.

This approach provides me with the opportunity to properly educate friends and colleagues about HD and perhaps even build a support network to assist me should I become disabled.

Feeling lighter

Although this definitive step out of the closet remains a momentous event for me, I have come to see it as an opportunity to expand the Huntington’s cause and to help defeat the very stigma of HD that originally sent me fleeing into the closet.

I will also feel immense relief and joy at being able to talk openly about HD at any time and with any person.

In discussing the Chronicle piece with a close professional colleague and friend the other day, I was thankful to hear his prediction that this experience, fraught with so much doubt  about the balance between advocacy and privacy, would ultimately bring me closer to my wife.

Indeed, far too much of our energy has gone into insulating ourselves instead of reaching out for the support we need on a personal level and in terms of the cause.

I nearly cried after my friend assured me that I would feel an immense burden lifted from my shoulders.

“You’re going to feel lighter,” he said with confidence.

Amen to that!

I know the road ahead is unpredictable, and that I will feel many things besides lighter, but for now, I’m just glad I can tell people how I’m racing against the genetic clock.

( I dedicate this article to the memory of my mother Carol Serbin, who died on February 13, 2006, after a long battle against HD, and of my father Paul Serbin, the “HD warrior” who tirelessley cared for her for more than ten years and who died with a broken heart on September 25, 2009. I know my parents would have been proud of my Chronicle article.)

Yale’s partnership against Huntington’s disease: an alumnus reconnects and finds hope as scientists pursue ‘Viagra for the brain’ and other solutions

The revelation in 1995 that I was at risk for Huntington’s disease, followed by my positive genetic test for HD in 1999, thrust me into a role as an activist, a journey to understand the biotechnological frontier, and a fight for my life.

However, for many years, and even after “coming out” in a major speech to scientists in February 2011, HD has remained my radioactive semi-secret because of the stigma surrounding the disease and my fear of genetic discrimination.

In those early years of confronting HD, I needed to open up to someone – and to seek help for the cause. Beyond some branches of my family and my local HD support group, I turned to the people I trusted most: fellow Yale University alumni, some close friends, others within a circle of trust. Many lent a sympathetic ear, offering donations, contacts, and advice.

Above all, they helped me feel less lonely inside the terrible “Huntington’s closet.”

Dr. Martha Nance, a neurologist in Minneapolis dedicated to finding treatments for HD, became one of my closest HD confidantes. Brooklyn-based journalist Norman Oder suggested the idea for this blog. Editing nearly every article, Oder has become more than a friend: he is my Huntington’s alter ego.

Dr. Martha Nance and Gene Veritas in San Diego, 2007.

Yale’s seal, which includes the Latin phrase “Lux et Veritas” (light and truth), echoed in my choice of an HD pseudonym, “Gene Veritas,” the “truth in my genes.”

Now, in a way I would never have imagined, I have come to rely on Yale itself in my fight against HD.

At the CHDI Foundation’s Seventh Annual HD Therapeutics Conference, held February 27-March 1 at the Parker Palm Springs in Palm Springs, CA (a hotel owned by fellow alum and real estate developer Adam Glick), I heard exciting news about how scientists in the Yale School of Medicine will help prepare the way for clinical trials of potential therapies.

(Backed by a group of anonymous donors, the non-profit CHDI once stood for “cure Huntington’s disease initiative” but today simply represents the name of the foundation, which focuses exclusively on the search for HD treatments.)

In my unrelenting drive to translate HD science into understandable terms, I dubbed these compounds “Viagra for the brain,” a phrase that refers not to the salacious aspects of the famous drug but to these compounds’ biochemical similarity to Viagra.

I also decided to visit the scientists’ labs to deepen my understanding of their crucial work, to offer my assistance, and to give myself a shot of much-needed hope.

Below, watch my short introductory video of the visit.




An emotional return to New Haven

I had returned only twice to Yale – in 1983, a year after graduation, and, during a memorable cross-country trip with my wife and daughter in 2010 in my effort to enjoy life to the fullest before the inevitable symptoms of HD set in.

This time I arrived in New Haven on May 28 after a two-hour train ride from Manhattan.

That evening, walking through the Yale campus almost 30 years to the day after I graduated, I experienced a flood of memories – some painful, some hilarious, and many, many warm and wonderful.

I remembered the sacrifices my grandparents and parents had made to help me to attend one of the world’s top institutions of learning. I recalled how, as the grandson of immigrant grandfathers and the son of working-class parents, I strived to reach the top academically and then professionally.

As I peered into the darkened windows of the Yale Daily News, where I served as a reporter, I wondered whether my 12-year-old daughter, who writes well and recently sent letters to 35 U.S. Senators about my plight and the need to reverse their opposition to health care reform, might herself someday become a journalist. I imagined the two of us critiquing news articles together. She’s finishing up sixth grade this month, and she says she wants to attend Yale. I imagined her striding confidently through the offices.

It seemed almost yesterday when I walked to classes and debated and laughed with friends in the dining halls of the university’s grand gothic buildings. Once imposing, they no longer felt intimidating. Life is fast, I thought with a tinge of sadness.

My life was abruptly sidetracked by HD. My mother died in 2006, and my father, with a broken heart, followed her in 2009. I wondered: will HD prevent me from helping my daughter apply for college and begin her own path in life?

Yale has generated many of America’s leaders, and it inspires leadership in various ways. I pondered how I had to rise, along with many others, to an unexpected leadership role in the fight against the disease. And I reminded myself that I must do my part to keep the flame of leadership burning, within myself, for as long as I can; within my family; and within the HD movement.

Back in my hotel room later that evening, I prepared for the next day’s emotionally charged meetings at the School of Medicine. It was a place I didn’t go to as an undergraduate, I thought, and represented a new phase in my HD activism, in my relationship with Yale, and in my life. These scientists could help save me.

Catching the disease early

As part of a global effort to eradicate HD, the Yale scientists will play an important role in investigating some of the disorder’s mysteries and in seeking effective treatments. The university’s faculty in neuroscience, neuropharmacology, and other fields provide a supportive context for this work.

Two of the scientists, Hoby Hetherington, Ph.D., and Doug Rothman, Ph.D., are starting groundbreaking work on important facets of HD.

Dr. Hetherington will apply his knowledge of epilepsy, brain trauma, and brain scans to study an energy deficit in HD resulting from insufficient adenosine triphosphate, the basic fuel for our cells.

Using Yale’s 7 Tesla MRI scanner, one of only a few dozen in the world with ultra-powerful magnets, Dr. Hetherington will scan humans using a method called MRSI (magnetic resonance spectroscopic imaging).

Dr. Hetherington hopes to determine whether the energy deficit in HD is a cause or an effect and, in the process, to produce a clearer picture of the disease as it actually occurs.

MRSI involves the MRI machine augmented with two pieces of additional equipment – a head detector and shim insert – permitting him to track the energy deficit by obtaining clear, high-resolution images of study participants’ brains.

As Dr. Hetherington explained, the detector allows him to adjust the readouts of each scanned individual’s brain by accounting for distortions in the magnetic field caused by the presence of the head. It also accounts for the heat generated by the head. Using the detector, he can contour the magnetic field and also pick specific regions of the brain to excite.

Dr. Hetherington’s lab designed and built the first generation of the detector and continues to develop and test new versions of the device. The detector is now in commercial development for more widespread use.

Dr. Hetherington will use the detector in his planned study of gene-positive, asymptomatic HD people like me.

Dr. Hoby Hetherington places a special head detector in the 7 Tesla MRI scanner in his lab at Yale University (photo by Gene Veritas).

Dr. Hetherington explains the innards of the head detector (photo by Gene Veritas).

To compensate in yet another way for distortions in the scanner’s magnetic field, Dr. Hetherington employs the shim insert, which he also helped to design. Like a common shim used to straighten objects in woodwork or masonry, the shim insert levels out the scanner’s magnetic field. He uses the shim to do the opposite of what the head of the scanned individual does to the field. This makes the field uniform and thus easier to read.

A standard scanner shim typically can do eight adjustments, Dr. Hetherington explained. Yale’s can do about 30.

This shim will play an important part in Dr. Hetherington’s HD scans, in which he will examine areas of the brain (such as the basal ganglia) where distortions are created by the presence of the sinuses and the ear canals.

Dr. Hetherington and the shim insert (photo by Gene Veritas)

Dr. Hetherington explains an actual anatomical image of the brain obtained from the 7 Tesla scanner (photo by Gene Veritas).

“It’s catching the pathology before it’s become lethal or progressed,” Dr. Hetherington said of his lab’s technology during my visit while showing me images from an epilepsy study. “That’s the idea of trying to have an early marker of what’s going on. If the cells have died already, the structure gets small. You can see that on standard anatomical imaging, but that’s kind of too late.”

Boosting creatine

Looking ahead 50 to 100 years, Dr. Hetherington speculated that patients with brain-based disorders such as HD and epilepsy may take a common drug to correct the problems they cause in bioenergetics.

Dr. Hetherington explained that the HD study will seek to measure phosphocreatine levels in the brain. Brain cells produce phosphocreatine, which is essential in bioenergetics, from creatine, which is also created by the body and can be taken in the form of a supplement.

Beginning with my participation in the Huntington’s Disease Drug Works (HDDW) program, I have taken creatine for nearly a decade in an effort to stave off symptoms. Creatine is currently under study in an HD clinical trial. (Click here to read more about HDDW founder Dr. LaVonne Goodman's latest assessment of creatine and other supplements.)

“If you can boost the whole pool (of creatine), you’ll have more phosphocreatine around,” Dr. Hetherington said of the theory behind creatine supplementation.

Paralleling mice and humans

Supported by CHDI, Dr. Doug Rothman, Ph.D. a pioneer in the use of magnetic resonance spectroscopy (MRS) and the Director of Magnetic Resonance at Yale, will employ MRS to examine another kind of energy deficits in the mitochondria, the powerhouses of the cell, in transgenic mice.

HD patients often need a higher-than-average caloric intake.

Rothman’s work could provide important clues as to how Huntington’s kills brain cells – and what treatments might stop it. He hopes to extend the experiment to humans, beginning with a 4 Tesla scanner and perhaps later using the 7 Tesla scanner and its accessories.

“It’s really important to keep an eye on what are the relevant aspects of a mouse model,” Dr. Rothman commented, noting that transgenic animals can manifest symptoms differently than humans, and that the mitochondria are more evolved in humans than in mice. “The only way to do that is to really explore, hopefully in parallel, what’s happening with human subjects.”

Dr. Rothman at work in his office (photo by Gene Veritas)

Alleviating symptoms, strengthening the brain

Also with support from CHDI, two other Yale research groups will assess compounds that, if successful, would improve memory and cognition, arrest some of the psychiatric symptoms, and act as neurotrophins, so-called “fertilizers” for the brain. At least one of these neurotrophins (BDNF, brain-derived neurotrophic factor) is severely deficient in HD.

As noted above, I dubbed these substances, developed by Viagra producer Pfizer, “Viagra for the brain” because the substances belong to the same class of drug as Viagra, an inhibitor of an enzyme known as a phosphodiesterase (PDE).

Although targeting different PDE families than the PDE-5 targeted by Viagra, the biochemistry is very similar. Essentially, the new compounds are cousins of Viagra, aiming to inhibit other PDEs.

The Yale scientists will test these compounds in collaboration with CHDI’s “drug hunters” and Pfizer. One coordinator of the three-way partnership is Ladislav Mrzljak, M.D., Ph.D., CHDI’s director of neuropharmacology and a former postdoctoral fellow in Yale’s Department of Neurobiology.

Scientists hope that inhibition of PDEs will compensate for some of the changes occurring in HD.

With new research showing that some PDE inhibitors reverse symptoms in mice, CHDI and Pfizer recently began collaborating with the ultimate goal of taking them into clinical trials.

“There are currently no PDE inhibitors marketed for central nervous system diseases,” Christopher Schmidt, Ph.D., a senior director at Pfizer, explained. “This is new territory.”

Mihaly Hajos, Pharm.D., Ph.D., a former Pfizer scientist and neurophysiologist with a background studying schizophrenia and Alzheimer’s disease, aims to detect whether the same inefficient use of the brain’s information processing (a so-called “auditory gating deficit”) that occurs in humans with HD also occurs in mice and rats genetically engineered to have the disease. If so, Hajos will then test PDE inhibitors as a remedy.

The experiment also could validate the electrical signals as a good biomarker, or measure, of the inhibitors’ impact on people.

Dr. Mihaly Hajos (center) with assistants Elizabeth Arnold and Dr. David Nagy (photo by Gene Veritas)

Studying nonhuman primates

Another project involves the husband-wife team of Graham Williams, D.Phil., and Stacy Castner, Ph.D., neuroscientists in the Department of Psychiatry who are specialists on schizophrenia and substances known as “cognitive enhancers.” The duo will test the effects of PDE inhibitors on cognition in normal, healthy nonhuman primates. These subjects contrast sharply with the transgenic, diseased mice, rats, flies, and even sheep and pigs used in other Huntington’s research.

“We can’t be dependent on the genetic model,” Dr. Williams explained, emphasizing the need to view the disease and the effect of potential drugs from various perspectives.

If the inhibitors work, Drs. Williams and Castner will submit the animals to harmless brain scans using FDG-PET to localize areas of the brain affected. These measurements could help predict the impact of the inhibitors in humans.

Successful studies in the nonhuman primates could help to accelerate the process of getting the inhibitors into human trials and ultimately approved as drugs, a process that could take five to ten years.

The PDE inhibitor projects seek ways to intervene early in the disease, before disabling symptoms occur. The potential therapies could help prolong my life and the lives of tens of thousands of gene-positive and symptomatic individuals.

A key workshop: from animals to humans

On May 31 and June 1, I observed yet another aspect of Drs. Williams and Castner’s research by participating with them in a CHDI meeting in Manhattan titled “Translatability of Cognitive Readouts Workshop.” With some two dozen participants and organized by Dr. Allan Tobin, one of CHDI’s two chief scientific advisors, the workshop aimed to help CHDI move from testing of potential treatments in animals to human clinical trials.

Dr. Mrzljak also took part, as did Dr. Ethan Signer, CHDI’s other chief scientific advisor, Dr. David Howland, director of in vivo biology, and Dr. Beth Borowsky, director of translational medicine. Robi Blumenstein, the president of CHDI’s sister management firm, kicked off the meeting.

CHDI will release the conclusions of the workshop in the near future. Watch my short interview about the meeting with Dr. Tobin in the video below.



The workshop was quite intense and intimate, to say the least. Sitting at a table with one another for eight hours on two consecutive days, and sharing dinner and drinks in lower Manhattan the evening of May 31, we formed new friendships and professional relationships. Dr. Tobin purposely plans the workshops in this way to extract the maximum of candor and new ideas.

I was invited to the meeting as an “observer.” I thought I would quietly sit in the back and take notes.

However, to my surprise, Dr. Tobin seated me at one of the heads of the workshop table. Just before the event began at 9 a.m. on May 31, he asked if I would mind sharing my story with the scientists, and to be “interviewed” by Dr. Julie Stout, an American HD researcher based in Australia.

A number of the invitees, such as Drs. Williams and Castner, had devoted their careers to non-HD conditions and questions, so for many in the room I was a first contact with a person from an HD-affected family.

What I expected to be a few minutes of introduction to the disease turned into a 90-minute discussion about the many social ramifications of the disease. In an effort to contribute to the questions of translatability and cognition, I described such symptoms as my mother’s depression, her loss of the ability to work, her inability to interact with her granddaughter and other family members, and the ways in which our family and her physicians attempted to deal with her symptoms. I also spoke about the fear surrounding genetic testing.

Dr. Stout commented that telling my story helped the scientists understand what it’s like to live with HD. Scientists, she observed, need the collaboration of those confronting HD in the quest for solutions.

At the end of the workshop, I thanked Dr. Tobin, CHDI, and the scientists for allowing me to share my story – which, I pointed out, was just one of thousands of such stories one could hear from the HD community.

CHDI translatability workshop participants, with Gene Veritas standing in back of room (photo by Jerry Turner, CHDI)

Yale and the big picture

Together with CHDI and Pfizer, Yale scientists will furnish pieces of a very large and complex Huntington’s puzzle currently under study by researchers throughout the world in academic labs, pharmaceutical companies, and medical clinics. CHDI, as well as governments and other organizations, supports many of  those projects in producing what most scientists project as an “HD cocktail” of therapies for managing the disease and allowing those affected to lead normal and productive lives. (Scientists don’t speak of “curing” HD, because of its immense complexity and the fact that the defective gene cannot be removed from the body.)

The path, however, isn’t simple. At Yale, Drs. Hetherington and Rothman voiced concern about the potential lack of volunteers for their research involving brain scans. Indeed, stigma and other factors threaten to leave scientists with too few research participants in which to adequately test drugs for safety and efficacy. Tragically, the drive to halt Huntington’s could stall. I pledged to help spread the word of the scanning studies in the Huntington’s community.

In the quest for treatments, scientists and patients depend on each other. Likewise, the many disease communities share a mutual goal. By helping to solve Huntington’s, Yale’s scientists will also assist those fighting Alzheimer’s, Parkinson’s, and many other conditions that afflict millions – as well as the estimated tens of millions of victims of thousands of other genetic and orphan conditions, the focus of Yale’s new Center for the Study of Mendelian Disorders.

Yale, its alumni, and its scientists have lent an enormous hand in my family’s fight. I have already gained strength and support from a network of Yale ties. Someday I may take a Huntington’s drug tested in a Yale lab.

The place that ignited my intellectual passion and launched me into life once again holds one of the keys to my future. This is the American university at its best – engaging in cutting-edge drug discovery, aiding a community long beleaguered by stigma and hopelessness, and affirming life.

Coming down from coming out: recharging the activism batteries

After giving the speech of a lifetime about facing the threat of Huntington’s disease, I need to recharge my batteries.

As readers of this blog know, it's been an intense few weeks. On February 7, I told a meeting of some 250 HD researchers and supporters of the search for a cure that I am gene-positive for the cruel and deadly brain disease that took my mother’s life in 2006.

I had finally gone public after 15 years of hiding my situation. I'd feared genetic discrimination in the workplace and the insurance and healthcare systems.

I still have such fears, but they've diminished somewhat, thanks to the passage of the Genetic Information Nondiscrimination Act in 2008 and the healthcare legislation of 2010, which by 2014 will prohibit denial of coverage to people with pre-existing conditions.

And, because I’m in a race against time as I await an effective treatment, I’ve committed to a bolder stance

Less than a week after my speech, I posted a video of it on this blog. I followed up a week later with an extensive article about the meeting, the “Super Bowl” of HD drug discovery, including videos of my interviews with two leading HD researchers.

In preparing the presentation, I kept thinking of how I was “writing my life.” From mid-December, when I began the speech, until now, I’ve revisited the many memories of my parents and my fears of HD. And I’ve braced myself for the emotional and social impact of leaving the HD closet.

Now I’m taking stock of the whole experience. But it’s not easy to process so many difficult thoughts while handling the many responsibilities of work, family, and community. And there is no “right” or “wrong” way of handling an exit from a closet, especially when in the case of a little-known yet highly stigmatized brain disease like HD. So I don’t yet have any clear conclusions.

In these last few days I did know one thing for sure: I needed to rest up for the next stage of my activism in support of greater public awareness about HD and the need to find treatments and a cure.

Adrenalin mixed with worry

Sharing my story with the scientists who hold my future in their hands left me exhilarated. My keynote speech moved many in the audience to tears.

A number of the scientists later came up to me during the four-day meeting in Palm Springs, California, and said the speech had brought home the reality of HD and inspired them to redouble their efforts.

Later I was interviewed on camera for a forthcoming video about the urgent need for the HD community to participate in clinical and observational trials. Without such help scientists will lack the data they need to develop effective drugs.

I was interviewed by Charles Sabine, a former NBC-TV foreign correspondent and now the international spokesperson for the HD movement. Charles is also HD-positive.

The online video of my keynote speech drew an unusually high number of visits to this blog. People expressed thanks and support.

The speech and my coverage of the meeting brought an adrenaline rush, but also worry about the possible long-term consequences of coming out. I couldn’t point to anything specific, but felt exposed and a bit defenseless. The day after I put the speech online, the emotional overload gave me heartburn.

Translating the science

I had little time to think about the impact of the speech, because I immediately had to shift my focus to comprehending the new research data presented by the scientists. I dedicated each minute of my free time on the weekend of February 19-20 to the update on the meeting.

Although my speech marked a personal milestone, translating the science into language understandable for the HD community presented an equally significant challenge. It is the scientists who will find the solution to HD. The HD movement has become my life’s work, and a big part of that involves informing people of the scientific progress and inspiring them to get involved.

To produce that article I had to get into my special writing zone. It’s a huge challenge to write on HD research, because I was trained in history, not science. The scientists speak in their own highly technical language, and I had to get the translation just right. So I imagined myself somehow fine-tuning my brain for the task.

I relish the challenge, because that kind of stimulus could partially protect my brain against HD’s attack on my mental abilities, including my great passion for writing.

But reporting on the search for treatments also makes me painfully aware of how the disease harms the brain years and even decades before the classic symptoms kick in. It's painful to look at scanning images that illustrate how HD shrinks the brain by causing neurons to die.

In these last few weeks I’ve often felt as if I’m in a daze.The need to deny the reality of HD sometimes makes me feel as if it’s all unreal, as if I’m floating above myself, my predicament, and the scientists and am looking down at it all.

Coming down from coming out

Every beat of the heart requires a rest, so I’ve also spent time more time than usual decompressing.

At one of the dinners for the scientists, the host hotel, the Parker Palm Springs, served a fantastically good wine. Or was it my exhilaration that made the wine taste better? I copied the label information on a napkin: “Hangtime. 2008 Pinot Noir. Arroyo Seco. Force Canyon Vineyard.”

“Hangtime” refers to the period the grapes remain on the vine. It also refers to enjoying the company of good friends and good wine.

I couldn’t find the 2008 vintage of Hangtime in San Diego, but I bought a few bottles of the 2009 vintage to share with my wife and friends.

Each sip reminded me of the speech and the commingling of my hopes with the scientists’ efforts to find a cure. I want so badly for those feelings of hope – and feelings of freedom from HD forever – to hang endlessly in time.

I’m going to track down a bottle of that 2008 vintage and keep it as a remembrance of the meeting. I’ll uncork it the day the scientists have found an effective treatment that saves everybody in the HD community from its devastating symptoms.

Keeping a balanced life

As many readers of this blog may have concluded, I’m a workaholic. That keeps me focused. But sometimes I let my activism consume me. Then I must remind myself that, no matter the circumstances, life requires balance.

A few weeks ago our “miracle baby,” who was born HD-negative in 2000 after we had her tested in the womb, lamented the fact that I had not taught her how to throw a ball properly.

After work one afternoon, I stopped at Target to choose a cushy ball the size of a softball. I took my daughter to the park, and we practiced tossing it back and forth. When it was time to go, I made her throw it to me and catch it three consecutive times without a miss before we could leave.

In the days that followed, thinking of the ball became the antidote to my workaholism.

It’s also a reminder that my daughter needs me.

Keeping the balance is a huge challenge, because for me to be with my family in the long run, I must spend time away from them in the short run working for the cause. However, although scientists are increasingly optimistic about a treatment, nobody can predict exactly how or when they will find one.

Looking ahead

So now it’s time to recharge my mental, emotional, and physical batteries for the next wave of activism. The keynote speech is already creating new opportunities for me to contribute to the cause.

Tomorrow evening, February 28, I will speak to the local HD support group on my coping strategies.

In early May I will make a similar presentation to the annual convention of the Northern California chapter of the Huntington’s Disease Society of America.

I’m also planning a trip to Cambridge, Massachusetts, to visit the headquarters of Alnylam Pharmaceuticals, which is getting ready to apply for permission from the federal government to conduct human trials for its potentially revolutionary remedy, an RNA interference drug, to stop HD at its genetic roots. I will write about Alnylam in future articles.

As I step up my public advocacy, I’m embarking on a new phase in my life. More than ever, I’m going to need large quantities of positive energy.

Feeling like an alien: going public about Huntington's

How do you overcome the stigma and fear of discrimination associated with a brain disease that could leave you horribly disabled?

I’ve struggled with this question constantly since my mother’s diagnosis for Huntington’s disease in 1995. HD caused her body to move uncontrollably and robbed her of the ability to speak, eat, and think. She died in February 2006.

My fear of HD and discrimination increased exponentially after I tested positive for the disease in 1999.

But in 2010 I started to come out of the HD closet. After turning 50 and putting in twelve years as an activist for the Huntington’s Disease Society of America (HDSA), I believed it was time to speak out. I also felt encouraged by the passage of the Genetic Information Nondiscrimination Act of 2008 and last year’s new healthcare legislation, which will ban the exclusion of people with pre-existing conditions from health coverage.

I took two very big steps last year. In June I revealed my gene-positive status in public for the very first time, and in September I gave a presentation on my family’s struggle with HD at Vertex Pharmaceuticals.

Going fully public

Now I am preparing to go fully public. On February 7, I will deliver the keynote address to Huntington’s researchers from around the world at CHDI’s 6th Annual HD Therapeutics Conference at the Parker Palm Springs hotel in Palm Springs, CA.

Starting the day after Super Sunday, this event is the “Super Bowl” of HD research. The CHDI Foundation, Inc., informally known as the “cure Huntington’s disease initiative,” is the largest private sponsor of HD research.

CHDI is going to record my speech and very likely place it on the web.

For the first time, the greater HD community – and anybody else who watches the video – will know my real identity.

New burdens

So I’m scared!

Living in the closet was comfortable. It allowed me to deny the “truth in my genes” to both myself and my friends and acquaintances.

But after February 7, I’ll take on new burdens, including the deep misunderstanding many people will likely have about an unknown, complex, genetic, and deadly disease.

For years I’ve played through my mind all kinds of scenarios about coming out and people’s reactions to it.

Starting next week, I’ll be dealing with the reality of coming out.

Dual identities

To help me get ready for the CHDI speech, I read the graphic novel It’s a Bird …, written by Steven T. Seagle and illustrated by Teddy Kristiansen. The 2010 CHDI keynoter, Seagle is from a family affected by HD.

Seagle’s story about a man’s fear of HD, which afflicted the main character’s grandmother, strikingly resembles parts of my own family’s story – and that of so many other families struggling with the stigma of HD.

Steve, the main character and a comic-book writer, is like Clark Kent/Superman: he has two identities, one public and one secret.

But while many people identify with Superman, Steve hates him. The dual identity painfully reminds him of Huntington’s disease as he struggles to come to terms with his own at-risk status and his parents’ cover-up of the disease. This predicament sometimes leaves Steve downright miserable and unable to share his feelings with his girlfriend or anybody else.

I, too, live with a painful dual identity – my HD world and non-HD world.

HD ‘aliens’

Steve narrates the story of the day he visits his aunt, who lies gaunt and twisted in bed as she goes through the final stages of HD (boldface in original):

You can shield a child’s eyes from this, but as an adult, there is no looking away.

What you see, immediately… What you know… Is that there’s no good thing to hope for a Huntington’s patient. If you hope they’re fine except for their body – you’re condemning them to a life sentence lived out inside a useless shell.

If you hope they’re vegetative and mentally gone – then you’ve damned them to a meaningless living death.

And the concerns compound when you own up to the fact that in another twenty years … this could possibly be you…

With your kids looking down at your twisting, writhing body and wondering the same thing about you …

… And themselves…

… Because this is not a condition you could hide like a rash, or a tumor secreted on the inside.

This disease sets you apart, marks you as different …

… Alien.

Superman is an alien.

I feel like an alien with my HD-positive status.

How are people going to react? Will people at work question my ability to perform? Will people make discriminatory comments? Will my 10-year-old daughter hear jokes at school?

And how will I react to people’s reactions?

Seeking support

On January 24 I participated for the first time in several years in the local HD support group’s breakout session for at-risk individuals.

My HDSA activism began through support group in the late 1990s, and, last year, I decided to return to my roots in the organization by resigning from the board of directors and dedicating more volunteer time to support.

In the past I gained much from this group. Now I want to give back.

At first I felt strange sitting with the two facilitators and two other at-risk individuals.

But I also opened up about my deep fears about going public.

I was once again struck by the undeniable reality of HD.

As I take the fight against HD public, I’ll need more support than ever.

Losing control, seeking connections

As a person who is gene-positive for Huntington’s disease, I have steadily stepped up my involvement in the cause to stop it. My commitment began a couple years after learning of my mother’s diagnosis in late 1995 and intensified after I tested positive in 1999.

Lately, as I take on ever more tasks in the movement, I should feel great satisfaction. And I do.

But, ironically, I’ve also felt that I’m losing control over my life. I feel overwhelmed by what I call my three jobs: family, work, and the HD cause. And my decision to gradually go public about my status will forever change how people see me.

Big goals

On September 24 I made my first speech in the United States about my family’s struggle against HD.

After blogging on that presentation, I delved into an overdue writing project for my work. A lot is riding on it, because, if successful, it could lift my profile in the world of writing and help me raise awareness about the need to fight HD and other genetic diseases.

I had been working on this project for six months, and when I turned it in last Thursday, October 7, I felt an enormous relief.

But I immediately had to prepare for something even more important: the next day, October 8, I would pay my annual visit to Isis Pharmaceuticals, Inc., for an update on the company’s historic attempt to stop HD.

Genetic guerrillas

My professional writing project is about former South American guerrillas accused of terrorism. Suddenly, I had to shift to thinking about oligonucleotides, or oligos, which are a bit like genetic guerrillas. If all goes as planned, these guerrillas will bind to messenger RNA in the brain cells of HD patients and block the process that kills the cells.

Known as antisense technology, the Isis approach is a rare attempt to stop HD at its genetic roots. So it might lead to a “cure,” although Dr. Frank Bennett of Isis cautions against the use of that word. The more likely outcome is a treatment that becomes one in an array of medicines.

I spent several hours reviewing my past articles on Isis, posters on oligos presented at scientific meetings, and the notes from my conversation with Dr. Doug Macdonald, the director of pharmacology at CHDI Management, Inc., informally known as the “Cure Huntington’s Disease Initiative,” a collaborator with Isis in the oligo project.

My life in their hands

At Isis I was overwhelmed to see Dr. Bennett, the senior vice president for research, and Dr. Gene Hung, the scientist in charge of the HD research project. In my imagination these two men, along with others on the Isis team, hold my life – and the lives of tens of thousands of HD patients and at-risk individuals – in their hands.

Before we even began the interview, I warmly thanked Drs. Bennett and Hung for their dedication to assisting the HD community.

I desperately wanted to hear from them that Isis had found the treatment and was ready to begin testing in humans. In a nutshell, the project is taking longer than anticipated, but the progress is remarkable. (Later I’ll blog in greater detail on what I learned.)

Driving home from Isis, I felt a strange mix of euphoria and angst. I had just received encouraging news, and I had successfully carried out an interview on a difficult and complex subject.

But there are no guarantees the project will ultimately arrive at an effective treatment.

And, I wondered, what if it comes too late? My mother died of HD in 2006 at the age of 68, and, at 50, I am already past the age at which her symptoms began.

I wanted to both celebrate and hunker down.

The grapevine

Several months ago I told a good friend and professional colleague about my situation. This was the first time I revealed HD to anybody in my field. He showed great compassion and even made a donation to the Huntington’s Disease Society of America.

Last night I got a surprise call from a mutual friend and colleague who had heard that I was facing “health issues.” He was concerned that I might have something like multiple sclerosis or prostate cancer.

The inevitable grapevine has gone into action, I thought to myself. I have known this person for well over a decade and have trusted him on many professional questions. I decided to tell him about Huntington’s disease – and about how it was important for me to keep it hidden for so many years.

HIV-positive and HD-positive

The first friend had no inkling whatsoever about HD, but the second knew a family affected by HD and had learned in great detail about its medical and social impact.

He immediately got the picture.

This man is openly gay, and so I knew that he could identify with someone who was gene-positive for a deadly disease. In fact, I had previously imagined coming out to him because of his background as a gay rights activist.

We spent a while discussing the similarities between the situations of HIV-positive and HD-positive people.

Both groups have suffered a horrible stigma, leading to problems of discrimination in the workplace and other areas of life. Success in our shared professional field depends a lot on perceptions, and the slightest hint of an inadequacy of any kind can sour a person’s plans to advance.

And the victims of both HIV and HD face a terribly agonizing waiting game of wondering when and how symptoms will develop.

The end of control?

My friend expressed unconditional support, including future advice on how to come out.

I am sure I’ll be calling on him in the coming months. As I’ve written before, our society has developed a ritual for coming out about HIV and other well-known maladies, but still lacks one for genetic diseases, especially orphan conditions such as Huntington’s.

Although my two friends have promised to protect my identity, I know that as I speak out more about HD, the grapevine effect will grow. There is no such thing as a secret once it’s been shared. I will need to prepare myself for more phone calls, e-mails, and personal questions.

The lack of control over people’s perceptions of my HD status is something that I’ll have to live with the rest of my life.

I become especially distressed when I remember how my own mother lost control of her mind and body as HD ravaged her brain. HD people lose control over their movements and basic abilities such as walking, talking, and thinking.

HD people pass control over their lives to caregivers and, as death nears, to nursing home workers. I vividly remember how my father and later healthcare personnel spoon-fed my mother. It was as if she had returned to childhood.

In the end, nobody controls his or her biological destiny: death. People with devastating diseases have an acute awareness of this fact of life.

New and better bonds

As I approach my own destiny with HD, I will need to build ever stronger ties to people.

Going public will forever eliminate control over my genetic information, but it will also connect me to a growing number of people within the HD community and beyond.

I have long feared going public, but in doing so I can find new allies like the friend who called me yesterday to offer support.

HD could leave me completely dependent on my wife and daughter, so I also need to continue strengthening my bonds with them. If and when they need to care for me, I want that transition to go as smoothly as possible. I don’t want to be a burden, but know I could become one. I want to love and care for them while I can.