Brain donation programs – now perhaps at risk of losing funding – are key to a Huntington's disease cure: a family's story

 

In July 2022 Dorlue Schulte of San Diego died at home after a long struggle with Huntington’s disease. To benefit HD research, Dorlue donated her brain to the Harvard Brain Tissue Resource Center (HBTRC) at the nonprofit McLean Hospital in suburban Boston.

 

“They can get hundreds of samples from one donation, so it’s truly the gift that keeps on giving,” said Dorlue’s husband and main caregiver Doug in a presentation last October at the Huntington’s Disease Society of America (HDSA) San Diego chapter’s “Family is Everything” Education Day.

Doug observed that HD researchers are “coming up with great ways to inspect the brain to learn from them.”

 

Dorlue Schulte (family photo)

 

“Scientists now have the ability to look at every cell in the brain and look at the mRNA and the proteins in the cells to see if they are resistant or not resistant to Huntington’s disease and, more importantly, probably, the timing of when (cell) death occurs,” Doug explained. “They’ve got to compare it with a brain that’s not diseased.”

 

For his outstanding advocacy Doug received the 2021 Woody Guthrie Award at the HDSA national convention. He served on the HDSA-San Diego board from 2019-2022. A retired firefighter, Doug has raised awareness about HD among police officers to make them “a friend, not a foe,” when encountering affected individuals.

 

You can watch Doug’s 30-minute talk in the video below.

 

 

‘Precious’ human data

 

Besides research on HD mice and many other non-human species, study of HD brains provides “precious” human data in the quest for treatments, in the words of Robert Pacifici, Ph.D., the chief scientific officer of the key, HD-focused CHDI Foundation, Inc.

 

At meetings like CHDI’s Annual HD Therapeutic Conference scientists discuss the growing body of knowledge coming from these brains.

 

Doug was inspired to present Dorlue’s story in part by Dr. Pacifici’s statements about the importance of research in humans. Although the huntingtin gene exists in many species, only humans develop HD.

 

Over 10,000 brains collected

 

Founded in 1978 and one of the first brain banks in the U.S., Harvard Brain Tissue Resource Center is one of six repositories that are part of the federal National Institutes of Health (NIH) NeuroBioBank, a centralized resource for the collection and distribution of human brain specimens for research.

  

According to the HBTRC website, it has collected over 10,000 brain donations from across the U.S. and distributed over a hundred thousand samples, both nationally and globally, that have resulted in hundreds of publications. More than 45 different brain disorders are represented in the HBTRC collection, including HD.

 

HDSA endorses HBTRC. The two have a long-standing collaboration, and HBTRC has one of the largest collections of brains donated by persons diagnosed with HD in the U.S. if not the world.

 

The HBTRC’s home, McLean Hospital, is the largest psychiatric teaching hospital of Harvard Medical School.

 

The sole funder of the HBTRC is the federal NIH, HBTRC director Sabina Berretta, M.D., wrote in an e-mail interview with me on July 25. An associate professor of psychiatry at Harvard Medical School, she carries out HD research on the team of investigator Steve McCarroll, Ph.D., whose lab has created precise techniques for measuring the impact of HD on single brain cells.

 

As Doug pointed out, this type of research is only possible because of brain donations.

 

The uncertainty of future public funding

 

Harvard University has sued the federal government to try to block the Trump administration’s freezing of nearly $3 billion in research funds. The government also seeks to eliminate $783 million in NIH funding.

 

A statement on the NeuroBioBank website reads: “This repository is under review for potential modification in compliance with Administration directives.”

 

Responding to my questions about this situation, Dr. Berretta wrote that the cuts at Harvard and the NIH have not currently impacted the HBTRC. The government has not flagged current funds, she added. She noted, however, that “we are not sure at the moment” about potential restrictions arising from government concerns about diversity, equity, and inclusion. 

 

Dr. Berretta explained that the HBTRC NIH contract “will end in October 2025. It is not known at this time whether and how the new contract, expected to start in November 2025, will be impacted.”

 

Dr. Berretta explained that “the current funding uncertainty creates some challenges, particularly for talent retention and long-term planning, both critical to our work.”

 

“The other 5 brain banks part of the NIH NeuroBioBank are in our same situation,” she added.

 

Dr. Sabina Berretta (McLean Hospital photo)

 

A family discussion and a decision

 

Dorlue was 63 and had been married to Doug for 32 years. After graduating from high school in 1976, she worked for 20 years in a Pacific Bell office. She volunteered at her church, participated in her son Ryan’s school PTA, and enjoyed family camping trips. As a young adult, Ryan tested negative for the HD gene.

 

Dorlue was remembered as having “a fighting spirit that never wavered in the face of her diagnosis” with HD, including participation in clinical trials in hopes of a cure.

 

Doug and Dorlue discussed, and then agreed to, donating her brain when she was no longer in “denial” about her disease and learning that Ryan was now free of the disease, Doug said in his presentation. Dorlue registered for the donation in 2012.

 

“It should be your decision and no one else’s,” Doug emphasized, noting that contemplating a donation can be “very stressful” because of all of the difficulties already involved in HD.

 

The decision must involve the person’s legal first of kin, who will see through the donation after the person has died.

 

There are many reasons to donate – or not donate, said Doug, noting that some might have religious reasons against the process.

 

He recommended that families start conversations about donations “early.”

 

“You can cancel at any time,” he said of the process. The opportunity to donate is “a blessing,” he added.

 

A ‘very professional’ organization

 

A person can pre-register their donation on the HBTRC website or register any time over the phone, even after an individual has died, Doug explained.

 

Doug spoke several times with Dr. Berretta.

 

“She’s very compassionate,” he said. “The organization is very professional. I really felt that they understood how difficult it was to go through that process, especially right after your loved one died.”

 

Doug noted several exclusionary criteria that might prevent a brain from being accepted, such as a delay of more than 24 hours in getting the brain to the bank; a stroke or penetrating head injury; or testing positive for HIV, hepatitis B, or hepatitis C.

 

Although “it costs a lot of money for the brain to be put on a plane and sent to Harvard,” the only charges covered by the family are the usual funeral costs, such as cremation or embalming, Doug said.

 

Just 24 hours to get the brain delivered

 

The 24-hour clock for the donation to be received starts at the moment the last person saw the deceased alive, Doug continued.

 

Dorlue died at 6 a.m., when a hospice nurse declared her dead. Doug contacted the funeral home, which needed to transport the body to the facility that “harvests” the brain. The funeral home worker took four hours to arrive, Doug said.

 

“We were ten hours into this before they even took the body out of the house,” he recalled. “I was pretty anxious that we get this thing off.”

 

The brain is packed in ice for transport and placed in the luggage area of the plane so that it stays cold throughout the flight, Doug explained.

Once it arrives at the HBTRC laboratories, the brain is immediately dissected. Part of it is immediately frozen and kept at minus 80 degrees centrigrade. Another part is immersed in formalin. It is then assessed by a neuropathologist, who generates a neuropathology report. Both preparations are made available to investigators.

 

Once the brain arrived at Harvard, Doug received a call reassuring him that it had arrived undisturbed and on time. To preserve the integrity of the tissue for research, the brain is ultimately frozen at minus 80 degrees centigrade.

 

Doug also sent the HBTRC Dorlue’s medical records to assist in their research on her brain.

 

“That’s a big part of what the scientists look at,” he said. “They compare the brain with the symptoms and see if there’s any similarities or not.”

 

Crucial work towards a cure

 

The HBTRC website has an FAQ, donation forms, and phone numbers for making a donation.

 

This HBTRC does crucial work in the quest for a cure.

 

Doug has signed up to donate his brain. I will do the same.

 

As Doug put it, the bank collects brains from around the U.S. and sends samples around the world.

 

“Who knows who’s going to find a cure,” he said.

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.

My arduous, lucky, and enlightening journey since my mother’s death from Huntington’s disease 15 years ago

 

February 13, 2021, will mark fifteen years since my mother Carol Serbin died in 2006 after a two-decade fight against Huntington’s disease. She was 68.

 

Recalling her struggles and taking stock of my own predicament as an HD gene carrier have stirred me to reflect on my arduous, lucky, and enlightening journey since her death. Greater maturity and experience have also afforded me a deeper perspective on the HD cause as a whole.

 

My mother was diagnosed with HD in 1995, just two years after the discovery of the huntingtin gene. That breakthrough permitted the development of a genetic test confirming passage of the disease from one generation to the next. However, in retrospect, her symptoms probably had begun in the late 1980s, when she was in her late 40s.

 

The arduous years

 

Given Carol’s inexorable physical, cognitive, and emotional decline and the lack of treatments, in July 2005 my “HD warrior” caregiver father Paul Serbin sadly concluded that she needed 24/7 care in a nursing home.

 

Her move to the nursing facility greatly eased the caregiving burden on my father, although he faithfully visited her daily, still spoon-feeding her as he had done at home.

 

It also freed him to travel from their home state of Ohio to spend Thanksgiving of 2005 with my wife Regina, our five-year-old daughter Bianca, and me at our place in San Diego.

 

“I didn’t know how much I loved your mother until these past few years, taking care of her and seeing how much she has lost,” my usually stoic father confided in me.

 

Paul Serbin pushing Carol Serbin in wheelchair (photo by Gene Veritas, aka Kenneth P. Serbin)

 

From my standpoint, my mother was descending into an HD hell. Psychologically, this became the roughest period of my life. Not only was she was dying. I, too, had tested positive for the HD gene in 1999, so watching her decline was like “looking into the genetic mirror” that reflected my own future.

 

After my mother steadily lost the ability to swallow, in January 2006 I helped my father make the wrenching decision not to approve a feeding tube, which would at best have prolonged her physical life but left her bedridden, unable to communicate.

 

On the weekend of January 28-29, 2006, with my mother in hospice care at the nursing home, I flew to Ohio to visit her for what I knew could be the last time. With almost indescribable emotion, I said good-bye to my mother and, once again, gazed into the genetic mirror. This time it revealed a practically lifeless individual, barely able to move and unable to speak (click here to read more).

 

After that visit, and then learning that she had died in her sleep the morning of Monday, February 13, 2006, I felt utterly distraught about my gene-positive status.

 

In the months after her passing, I felt so terrified about getting HD that I began to act out some of the disease’s physical symptoms in front of my wife and daughter. I could not write anything in this blog for eight months.

 

My father, suffering his own severe cognitive loss likely accelerated by the loss of his wife, died on September 25, 2009, with a broken heart.

 

Tons of luck, and some positive strategies

 

I have now been without parents so long that memories of them feel like a distant past.

 

At 61, still without any apparent symptoms of HD, I feel extremely lucky. Each moment of good health is a blessing.

 

I have practiced personal and social enrichment, which scientists have recommended.

 

I have the benefit of a stable, good-paying job. Also, as the centrality of my parents faded, my roles as husband and father became paramount. Bianca became the center of our lives. Regina’s and Bianca’s love and support have proved crucial.

 

Also, because Bianca tested negative for HD in the womb, we have averted enormous health, financial, and psychological burdens (click here to read more).

 

The Serbin Family Team of the 2014 HDSA-San Diego Team Hope Walk: from left to right, Dory Bertics, Bianca Serbin, Jane Rappoport, Gary Boggs, Yi Sun, Kenneth Serbin, Regina Serbin, and Allan Rappoport (photo by Bob Walker)

 

I also exercise regularly, meditate daily, take medications to control depression and anxiety, and have a solid, long-term relationship with a psychotherapist.

 

I cannot be sure whether any of these things have staved off HD, but they generally bolster health.

 

Significantly, scientists have discovered very powerful explanations for why I am might have stayed asymptomatic so long: genetic factors, including modifier genes, that delay disease onset.

 

Gaining enlightenment about HD

 

Becoming enlightened about HD research and building bonds with scientists have reinforced both my advocacy and personal enrichment.

 

As a college professor, HD advocate, and explainer of the science ­– both in this blog and in interviews with researchers – I have had a privileged window on the quest for treatments. I have thoroughly enjoyed this work.

 

Moreover, I have gained great satisfaction in encouraging HD families to participate in research studies, platforms like Enroll-HD, and clinical trials.

 

Witnessing the progress towards treatments has also boosted my hope to participate someday in an HD clinical trial and, ultimately, enjoy the benefits of the first wave of effective treatments.

 

Overall, I believe that becoming enlightened about HD has helped me become a better person.

 

Pride

 

My devout Catholic parents – when I was a child, my father especially had hoped that I would become a priest – would have been especially proud of my family’s participation in #HDdennomore, Pope Francis’ special audience with the Huntington’s community in Rome in May 2017.

 

The pope declared HD to be “hidden no more” from the world.

 

I presented Pope Francis with a framed photo of my parents, well-dressed and smiling in a formal pose, taken after my mother had already been diagnosed with HD.

 

“My mother died of Huntington’s,” I told the Pope in his native tongue of Spanish. “My father cared for her for 20 years.”

 

In September 2017, I gave a presentation on #HDdennomore at my workplace, the University of San Diego. In February 2020, just before the COVID-19 crisis hit, I organized a screening of the poignant documentary on the papal audience, Dancing at the Vatican. It was well-attended by members of the local HD community.

 

Pope Francis displayed great love and mercy for our community.

 

Photo of Paul and Carol Serbin presented to Pope Francis by Kenneth Serbin, May 18, 2017. Photo taken shortly after Carol's diagnosis for Huntington's disease in 1995 (family photo).

 

Tributes, and imagining a world without HD

 

In many ways, since its inception sixteen years ago in January 2005, this blog has paid tribute to my parents. I have also honored the lives of other HD-affected people who valiantly fought against the disease such as Steve Topper and Harriet Hartl.

 

In these years since my mother’s departure, I have often wondered what our lives would have been like without the scourge of HD. This April 30, my mother would have turned 84 – within a plausible lifespan nowadays.

 

How wonderful it would have been had my mother – who could not interact with Bianca as a baby and toddler – been able to see her granddaughter reach college and to see Regina and me next year mark 30 years of marriage.

 

I can forge the greatest of tributes to my parents by continuing to nurture my health and hopefully secure a longer life so that I can grow old with Regina and see Bianca go out into the world.

 

When we learned of my mother’s diagnosis in 1995, there was no real hope of an HD treatment. However, since her death, research and the advent of clinical trials have brought unprecedented hope. As we’ve seen in response to the coronavirus pandemic, science can make great strides.

 

In unison with others, I can honor my parents by renewing the fight for Huntington's treatments so that thousands of families around the world can be freed from witnessing loved ones die early deaths.

Dreams for a better future: an opportunity we Huntington’s disease people and our families are denied

Because of its devastating medical and social impact, Huntington’s disease often forces affected individuals and their families to abandon their dreams.

After learning of my mother’s diagnosis for HD in 1995 and then testing positive for the deadly gene in 1999, I became aware of how the disease could damage family finances.

HD families not only lose the income of the affected individual; they also bear the costs of caring for that person, including nursing home fees. Sometimes the caregiver quits his or her own job in order to stay at home with the patient. Sometimes an exhausted caregiver even dies before the HD person.

Fearing such consequences, my wife Regina and I abandoned the idea of buying a retirement home in her native country of Brazil, in order to save more money to pay for my future care.

Our daughter tested negative for HD in the womb and is today a healthy 16-year-old. Unwilling to repeat the long and psychologically traumatic process of prenatal genetic testing, we decided to have no more children. That decision was especially painful for Regina.

Delving into the cause for a cure to save my deteriorating mother, I was compelled to add a new, fundamentally different dimension to my academic career: in addition to Brazilian history, I now also study the history of science, technology, and medicine. In this blog I have tracked the development of HD research, chronicled the HD cause as a social movement, and documented the new and harrowing human experience of living in the gray zone between a genetic test result and disease onset.

This new dimension has brought many rewards, but I often fantasize about what my career would be like if it weren’t for HD.

A diversion and a trigger

Brazil, my research passion, became simultaneously a diversion from and a potential trigger of HD onset. I eagerly looked forward to the escape to the wondrous culture of Brazil during my summer research trips.

However, with both HD and my intellectual legacy on my mind, each spring I prepared feverishly for those trips, packing into my schedule as many research tasks as possible – including meetings with Brazilian Huntington’s advocates. On the plane south, I worried about whether I was doing the best thing for my health. Relaxation and exercise in San Diego seemed more beneficial than living in hotels and eating restaurant food while exposing myself to the pollution and winter weather in the São Paulo megalopolis, where I did a lot of my work.

Facing HD, I couldn’t help but wonder if each trip might be my last.

Going international

As I became more deeply involved in HD advocacy and this blog over the past ten years, I lost some passion for Brazil research.

My mother’s death in 2006 figured heavily in that equation. As I watched her succumb to HD, I knew I would be the next to be stricken by the inevitable symptoms.

Research on Brazil sometimes seemed irrelevant. However, I kept at it, continuing a string of annual research visits stretching from 1986 to 2010, and again in 2013, 2015, and 2016. Today I consider myself bi-cultural, and my network of contacts in Brazil has made my HD advocacy international.

A new perspective

Lately, I’ve entered yet another stage of my journey with HD.

This year marked the tenth anniversary of my mother’s death. With time, memories of her struggle have become less frightening.

At the same time, something more important has occurred: at 56, the age at which my mother had involuntary movements and was losing her cognitive abilities, I have yet to develop any of the classic, visible signs of HD.

Scientists are getting closer to explaining the reasons for different age of onset in people like my mother and me who have the same degree of genetic defect (click here to read more). Unlike my mother, I’ve had the advantage of knowing that I carry the gene. So I have cared for my health more conscientiously.

After testing positive at age 39, I was convinced that I would by now have symptoms that would prevent me from working and traveling to Brazil.

I have been extremely lucky. As a result, my perspective has changed. I feel more optimistic about life because of the wonderful blessing of health that I currently enjoy.

Also, while in 1995 there was a dearth of potential HD remedies, today researchers run clinical trials in the quest for remedies to alleviate HD and perhaps even make it a manageable disease, thus allowing people to lead normal lives.

Having gotten this far, and looking back on two decades of advocacy, I am also somewhat more at peace with the fact that HD will inevitably strike me.

I know I am fighting the good fight. Ultimately, I cannot control my fate.

Taking a break from the cause

I took a break this summer from the HD cause. I devoted much of it to working on a long-gestating book project on former revolutionaries in power in Brazil, including Dilma Rousseff, the president of Brazil impeached in March and removed from office on August 31 by a vote of the Brazilian Senate. To grasp this important moment in Brazilian history, I have immersed myself in the events, including watching live video.

I had started the research on this project shortly after learning of my mother’s diagnosis. I had never imagined that at 56 I would still be able to write.

Focusing fully on Brazil again this summer, I felt in my element.

I did feel guilty this summer about not responding immediately to some requests for help from members of HD families.

However, I also recalled how many HD people give up on their dreams. I thought specifically of one asymptomatic gene carrier who decided to put advocacy aside and dedicate himself fully to a promising career.

“I have a right to self-fulfillment, too,” I told my psychotherapist. “I have given up so much because of HD. I really want to finish my book on Brazil.”

All HD-affected individuals and their families have the right to their own dreams!

That’s what we in the HD community are fighting to restore.

A stark reminder of HD

The gravity of our struggle hit home again on September 13, when Laura Rivard, Ph.D., invited me to attend a screening of the HBO documentary The Lion’s Mouth Opens in her course Ethical Issues in Genetics at the University of San Diego. (In a future article, I will explore HD and bioethics in the context of Dr. Rivard’s course.)

The film portrays filmmaker-actress Marianna Palka’s decision to test for HD. Before class, Dr. Rivard’s students also watched a video of me, produced by one of her former students, in which I discuss my own experiences with genetic testing (click here to watch the video).

The scenes with HD people moving uncontrollably starkly reminded me of my mother – and once again of my own terrible burden as a gene carrier.

Our biggest dream: an effective treatment

After we watched Marianna learn from a geneticist that she carries the HD gene, I answered students’ questions.

One asked: “Do days ever go by when you totally forget about your diagnosis, or is it always in the back of your mind?”

“It’s almost always in the back of my mind,” I responded.

However, I added: “I haven’t blogged since May. This is one of the longest periods I’ve gone without blogging.”

I explained that my Brazil book had priority over the summer.

“I’ve been able to put Huntington’s disease aside for the first time in many years,” I said. “It’s really nice to wake up some days and think about Brazil instead of Huntington’s disease.”

After leaving Dr. Rivard’s class, I remembered that the battle for treatments continues. It’s a battle that we need to win.

Like others affected by HD, I don’t want to become a financial and caregiving burden for my family. And like others, I want to experience the joys of family milestones, such as seeing my daughter graduate from college and start adult life without the worry of an incapacitated father.

An effective treatment will make that possible. Right now, that is our biggest dream.