Reinforcing the global fight against Huntington’s disease: a visit to Brazil and a reminder of our common struggles

The global cooperation necessary to defeat Huntington’s disease requires the bridging of cultural divides. It entails recognition of each country’s unique needs and contributions – but also of the common struggles involved.

With this in mind, last month I embarked on another phase of my own international advocacy by traveling to Brazil, the country I have studied since 1986, to deliver a speech on HD and build new connections for the cause.

The world’s fifth most populous country, with over 190 million people, Brazil occupies a significant place on the world’s HD map. Perhaps 19,000-plus Brazilians suffer from the disease, and tens of thousands are at risk.

Thus, once the global HD clinical trial and research study platform known as Enroll-HD gets under way in Brazil, the country’s potential contributions to the search for effective treatments will increase substantially (click here to read more).

A ‘bi-cultural’ perspective

As I have done almost every year over the past three decades, I visited Brazil primarily to work on my ongoing research in Brazilian history. In all, I have spent nearly seven years there. In 1991, during my Ph.D. research in Rio de Janeiro, I met my wife Regina.

Brazil is my second home. I refer to myself as “bi-cultural.”

Even before I joined the board of the San Diego chapter of the Huntington’s Disease Society of America in 1998, I established contact with Brazilian HD activists who founded the Associação Brasil Huntington (ABH) in 1997.

As a carrier of the HD genetic defect, I spoke in 2013 about my personal strategies for avoiding onset of symptoms at the sixth World Congress on Huntington’s Disease, held in Rio (click here and here to read more).

Gene Veritas (aka Kenneth Serbin) at Ipanema beach in Rio de Janeiro (photo by Regina Serbin)

Combating genetic discrimination

During this most recent trip, I advocated for HD-related issues in my meetings with political leaders.

In 2005, the Brazilian Senate passed a bill protecting citizens against genetic discrimination. However, the Câmara dos Deputados (the House of Representatives), has yet to take up the matter. Until then, the bill cannot become law.

Senator Aloysio Nunes Ferreira Filho, who ran for vice president in the 2014 election on the losing ticket of the opposition Brazilian Social Democracy Party, supports the legislation. During my visit to his office in Brasília, the capital, he phoned a colleague in the Câmara to urge action on the bill.

Senator Aloysio Nunes Ferreira Filho (above, photo by Gene Veritas) and Gene Veritas in the chamber of the Senado Federal in Brasília (below, photo by Lucas Souza) 

Defending the rights of the disabled

Later, in São Paulo, South America’s largest industrial and financial hub, I attended a presentation by the famous liberation theologian Leonardo Boff about the geopolitical state of the world, the threat to the global environment, and the current political crisis in Brazil.

The event was moderated by Paulo de Tarso Vannuchi, who served as Minister of the Special Secretariat for Human Rights from 2005-2011 in the government of the ruling Workers’ Party.

Vannuchi briefly introduced me to leaders of the National Council for the Rights of the Disabled. I committed to furnish them with information about HD and put them in touch with the ABH.

Vannuchi told the audience of 60, which included clergy and grassroots social activists, of my HD advocacy and suggested that the reporters present interview me.

Paulo Vannuchi, former Minister of the Special Secretariat for Human Rights (photo by Gene Veritas)

That same day I gave an interview to the TVT television outlet commenting on the importance of Boff’s speech. (You can see the report on the event, including my commentary, by clicking here).

Shortly after my return from Brazil on July 22, one of the reporters present at the event, São Paulo-based radio broadcaster Marilu Cabañas, interviewed me via phone about HD for her program. Shocked to hear of police detentions of HD-affected individuals in both Brazil and the U.S. because of ignorance about the disease, she headlined her report with that fact.

Bioethical challenges

I gave my speech, “Huntington’s Disease, Bioethics, and the Promise of Biotechnology,” on July 20 at the Universidade Candido Mendes (UCAM) in downtown Rio de Janeiro.

I have known the rector, Candido Mendes, for more than 20 years. My friends and colleagues, UCAM Professor Luiz Alberto Gómez de Souza and his wife Lúcia Ribeiro, both leading scholars and grassroots activists of the Catholic Church, organized the event. (Brazil is the world’s largest Catholic country.)

During my hour-long presentation in Portuguese, I recalled my family’s long fight against HD, beginning with my mother’s diagnosis in 1995, followed by positive test for the genetic defect in 1999 and the wrenching experience of testing our daughter Bianca in the womb in early 2000.

I felt deep relief after showing the audience pictures of our HD-free “miracle baby” in action as a youth soccer player. I spoke of the “double luck” we currently savor: Bianca will never face the terrible threat of juvenile HD, and I remain symptom-free despite having long passed my mother’s age of onset.

“At 55, my mother […] could no longer drive, she couldn’t work, she couldn't talk,” I said. “By a huge stroke of luck, I am healthy. Each day is a blessing.”

However, I also pointed to the many other bioethical challenges faced by HD families, including discrimination, family and caregiver stress, financial burden, and the lack of adequate facilities and caregiving personnel for late-stage patients.

The room became very quiet as I related how Carol Carr (of Georgia) in 2002 took a gun to the nursing home where her two HD-stricken sons lay helpless in bed and shot them dead to prevent further suffering. Carr spent nearly two years in prison.

“That was extremely sad for our community,” I recalled. “Huntington’s disease is not something easy to speak about.” 

With no effective treatments, such was the degree of hopelessness that has plagued the HD community, I had pointed out earlier.

The hope of clinical trials

“But I came to Brazil not to speak just about sadness,” I continued. “I also came to speak about hope and the promise of biotechnological research.”

The scenario for the HD community has changing radically in recent years with major advances in research and the advent of clinical trials to test potential remedies, I said.

I spoke of the immense potential revealed in the announcement last year of the gene-silencing clinical trial by Isis Pharmaceuticals, Inc. Citing an e-mail from Isis executive Frank Bennett, Ph.D., received the day before the presentation, I confirmed that the trial would start by year’s end.

(Indeed, the morning after my talk, Isis officially announced that it had commenced the trial.)

You can view my talk in the video below.

A Doença de Huntington, a Bioética e a Promessa da Biotecnologia from Gene Veritas on Vimeo.

A local commitment to the cause

During the Q & A, several Brazilian HD-affected individuals and caregivers spoke of their many struggles with the disease.

They also expressed excitement about the Isis clinical trial.

Carmen Paiva, Ph.D., spoke of her lab’s work in HD genetic and epidemiological research among Brazilian HD families. She told the audience of other local researchers and physicians focusing on the disease.

Recognizing common struggles

At the close of the session, Prof. Gómez de Souza evoked a key point of my presentation: the interconnectedness of neurological disease research and the common struggles of the afflicted.

He spoke with profound emotion about his brother, the renowned actor Paulo José Gómez de Souza, who has suffered from Parkinson’s disease for more than two decades but has successfully strived to continue working.

The struggles are shared among diseases – and among nations.

I look forward to celebrating with my Brazilian relatives and friends the defeat of HD, Parkinson's, and other neurological disorders as a result of a truly global effort.

The return of the Huntington’s whirlwind

In my quest to avoid the symptoms of Huntington’s disease and aid the search for treatments and a cure, I frequently struggle to cope with powerful feelings.

As I’ve written before, I constantly aim to keep a balance in my life between “striving” for the HD cause and “chilling” by enjoying the simple pleasures of life.

However, both the fear of symptoms – I tested positive for the HD gene in 1999 and at 53 have now passed my mother’s age of onset – and the excitement about the real hope for treatments sometimes provoke a whirlwind of emotions.

After a ten-week hiatus from this blog and most of my HD advocacy last summer, I took my advocacy to new heights starting in the fall. Since then, I’ve fought to keep a steady course as I’ve confronted both depressing and exhilarating feelings.

Recently, however, the sensation of being caught in a whirlwind has returned.

People keep dying

The people I meet through my advocacy regularly remind me of the terrible suffering inflicted by HD.

To be an HD advocate requires compassion – but also the ability to absorb great pain.

In preparing my recent article on HD and adoption, I interviewed two of my “HD sisters,” women in their mid-40s with about the same degree of genetic mutation as mine. I was startled to hear them describe how the onset of cognitive impairment has severely restricted their lives. I could not help but wonder how my own life as a college professor, HD advocate, husband, and father will be affected when my own inevitable symptoms start.

For my article on two HD activists, I delved into the wrenching story of Karli Mukka, a 13-year-old who died of juvenile HD. To see children who should be flourishing cruelly cut down by HD sends a spike into my heart.

“Oh, not another one!” I exclaim to myself when I read on Facebook about the death of yet another juvenile HD victim.

Seeing these fighters in our community go down makes me vow to redouble my efforts.

Such sadness seems unending. People keep dying of this horrible disease – with no treatments whatsoever to help them.

On February 13, along with the photo below, I posted the following about my own sadness on HD Facebook memorial and prayer pages:

Today marks the 7th anniversary of my mother Carol Serbin's death from HD. My father Paul, her "HD warrior caregiver," died three and a half years later. I miss them both terribly. I tested positive for HD in 1999. Our daughter tested negative in the womb. I had hoped treatments would come in time for my mother, but, sadly, they didn't. I continue as an HD advocate fighting to avoid onset and for the discovery of effective treatments.

A tribute and a Valentine’s gift

Solidarity has soothed the emotional pain.

The loving comments on my parents’ photo from HD friends and acquaintances brought great comfort. Wrote one woman:

Look at the smile on your Mom. I have noticed that no matter how sick these people are, they manage to still smile. My daughter is one of them. Such brave people. Sending Hugs your way Gene, all the way from Canada.

I could not have imagined a more lovely tribute to my mom and dad than the artistic reinterpretation of my parents’ photograph posted on the HD prayer page by Rebecca Rose, who lost an adult daughter to HD in 2009 and a 9-year-old granddaughter in January 2012.

On February 14, Valentine’s Day, I received a wonderful gift from sports talk show host Chick Ludwig, a friend of some 35 years, who interviewed me during a segment about HD on his program on WONE radio in my home state of Ohio.

The joy and excitement of reconnecting with Chick in such a special way and sharing my story with a live radio audience left me overwhelmed.

Looking to the World Congress

Solidarity has also helped recharge my advocacy batteries

In response to the Portuguese version of my definitive coming-out article in the mainstream media, Paulo Vannuchi, a survivor of brutal torture during the Brazilian military dictatorship (1964-1985) and the country’s minister of human rights from 2005-2010, wrote me a long and moving personal e-mail, pledging to support the cause in any way possible.

I was thrilled that a man with great political influence and a record of defending the disabled could help the HD cause in Brazil, my wife’s homeland and my “second home” after nearly three decades of studying its history and people.

The world’s fifth most populous country with nearly 200 million people, Brazil has an estimated 13,000-19,000 HD patients and 65,000-95,000 at risk of carrying the gene, making it a key player in the effort to globalize the search for treatments through the so-called Enroll-HD program.

Indeed, Rio de Janeiro, Brazil’s second largest city, will host the 2013 World Congress on Huntington’s Disease from September 15-18. I will speak in at the congress on the topic of coping with the knowledge of living with the mutant gene.

Paulo and I have begun to brainstorm how to raise the profile of the congress and awareness about the disease in Brazil, where the community is even more closeted than in the U.S. and whose Huntington’s association has only minimal resources. (I will explore the reality of HD in Brazil in a future article.)

After 25 straight years of living in or visiting Brazil, I declined to travel there in 2011 and 2012. I’ll spend a good part of this year planning a very special return: to attend the congress, my first ever HD event outside the U.S., alongside other HD people in the land I love as much as my own. I'm very happy that I'm finally able to meld the professional and personal sides of my life with my advocacy.

However, planning for the trip could also cause anxiety. As a Brazil specialist, I feel an immense responsibility to help make the congress a success.

Managing feelings

As I once again negotiate the twists and turns of the HD whirlwind, I’ve worked extra hard to take care of myself emotionally.

Like a lot of guys, I’m often in denial when it comes to managing feelings.

I wrote in my blog notes:

You men out there: do you take care of your feelings? Do you take care of yourself? Are you always trying to be the hero? The problem-solver? Are you listening to what your spouse says about HD, taking into consideration her feelings?

Luckily, throughout most of my journey with HD I have had the support of a (female) psychotherapist, my “mind coach.” I also take medication for depression and anxiety.

Joining an HD support group just one month after learning of my mother’s diagnosis of HD in late 1995 was one of the most important things I’ve ever done.

Likewise, seeking psychological assistance has helped me deal with the numerous ups and downs of living at risk for Huntington’s disease.

Keeping calm in a whirlwind is not easy. However, with friends, love, and support, we can keep forging ahead.

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.)

From a paralyzed genius, lessons of determination and caregiving for the Huntington’s community

In my fight to avoid the onset of Huntington’s disease, I have sought inspiration in model lifestyles, outlooks, and individuals.

One of my heroes is Stephen Hawking, the theoretical physicist who pioneered the science of black holes, Hawking radiation, the origins of the universe, and the quest for a “theory of everything,” an explanation of the ultimate forces and laws that govern the universe.

Hawking achieved all of this while surviving five decades with ALS, amyotrophic lateral sclerosis, known in the U.S. as Lou Gehrig’s disease and in Hawking’s native England as motor neuron disease. As is well known, ALS has completely paralyzed Hawking’s voluntary muscles, relegating him to existence in a motorized wheelchair with an on-board computer through which he speaks.

Hawking at the White House with President Barack Obama in 2009 (photo from www.hawking.org.uk)

When doctors diagnosed Hawking with ALS in his early 20s, they gave him two years to live. However, through sheer determination and with the support of his devoted wives and numerous friends and nurses, Hawking not only survived but achieved remarkable accomplishments. On January 8 he celebrated his 70th birthday.

Like millions around the globe, I am awed by Hawking’s brilliance, moved by his triumph over ALS, and cheered by his good humor and kindness.

I have just finished Stephen Hawking: An Unfettered Mind, a new biography by Kitty Ferguson.

It richly details Hawking’s extensive achievements in physics and his views of the origins of the universe, including the question of God. Reading about Hawking and his ideas, I feel the enormousness of the universe and, as he does with ALS, put the disease that claimed my mother, and that I face, in a healthy perspective.

An Unfettered Mind also portrays Hawking’s struggles with ALS, his utter dependence on caregivers for survival, and his and his first wife Jane’s fight to improve life for the disabled.

For HD activists, I believe that Hawking’s life offers valuable lessons to help strengthen our resolve to fight and demand better care for HD patients.

The ravages of ALS

Whereas HD is a fully genetic disease, only about ten percent of ALS cases are inherited. Researchers do not know the cause of the other 90 percent.

Like HD, ALS is debilitating and deadly. As Ferguson points out, ALS causes disintegration of the nerve cells in the spine and brain that regulate voluntary muscle activity. The muscles controlled by these nerve cells atrophy. Eventually every voluntary muscle in the body becomes compromised, making movement of any kind impossible. After diagnosis, most ALS patients live only a few years, dying from pneumonia or suffocation.

Patients experience no pain, and, unlike with HD, remain lucid to the very end. As Ferguson explains, patients in the final stage are prescribed morphine for panic and depression.

Hawking’s symptoms began as clumsiness during his third year as an undergraduate at the University of Oxford. Upon starting graduate studies at the University of Cambridge, he had difficulty tying his shoes, and his speech started becoming slurred.

Hawking experienced frequent fits of choking. In the summer of 1966 his fingers started to curl; writing by hand became almost impossible. A few years later he started using crutches. It took him 15 minutes just to climb the stairs at home. By 1971 he needed a wheelchair.

By the time Hawking became Cambridge’s Lucasian Professor of Mathematics – a chair also held by Isaac Newton – he “could no longer walk, write, feed himself, or raise his head if it tipped forward,” Ferguson writes of his condition in 1979. “His speech was slurred and almost unintelligible except to those few who knew him best.”

Hawking had several brushes with death. One occurred during a 1985 trip to Switzerland, where he became so ill that the doctors put him into an induced coma and on a life-support system. In order to save his life, Jane decided to have him undergo a tracheotomy, which was performed in Cambridge.

Hawking could no longer speak and could only communicate by spelling out words letter by letter; a helper would point to the letters on cards held out for him to see and select with a nod. Also, Hawking now needed 24-hour care from nurses.

Ferguson recounts how a computer expert in California enabled Hawking to communicate more rapidly by giving him a program the man had invented called “Equalizer.” It allowed Hawking to select words from a computer screen, and it also had a voice synthesizer – the famous Hawking voice known around the world. A student made Hawking a mouse-like tool that allowed him to operate the computer by squeezing a switch with his hand.

Because ALS continues to destroy his muscles, today Hawking can no longer use the mouse-like device. He now operates the computer by twitching a cheek muscle and thus activating a low-power infrared beam that prompts the computer.

“It is, of course, nothing short of miraculous that Hawking has been able to achieve everything he has, even that he’s still alive,” Ferguson concludes. “However, meeting him and encountering his intelligence and humor, you find yourself taking his unusual mode of communication and his obviously catastrophic physical problems no more seriously than he seems to himself. That is the way he wants it. He chooses ‘not to think about my condition, or regret the things it prevents me from doing, which are not that many.’ He expects others to adopt the same attitude.”

Although ALS has destroyed his body, Hawking plans to make further contributions to science. In a documentary produced several years ago, he declared through his voice synthesizer: “Hello. My name is Stephen Hawking: physicist, cosmologist and something of a dreamer. Although I cannot move, and I have to speak through a computer, in my mind I am free.”

Personal and institutional supports

In Ferguson’s account, Hawking has thrived so long only with the love and support of Jane and his three children with her. (ALS patients can still have sex.) Numerous professional colleagues, friends, the nurses, and other caregivers and assistants also provided Hawking with crucial support.

In the early years of the marriage, Jane cared for Hawking and coordinated the fulfillment of his needs. An intellectual in her own right, she postponed her graduate studies in literature, and she usually kept in the background as Hawking acquired accolades and fame. Ferguson reflects on how Jane chose this life path at a time when the feminist movement influenced many women to strike out independently of their husbands.

Hawking’s disease and success, as well as the presence of large number of caregivers in the home, made his marriage to Jane far from conventional. Although Ferguson does not discuss the Hawkings’ sex life during the period that they conceived their children, she does explore their ever more unusual and complex emotional and familial relationship as they lost physical intimacy. Both had affairs, and Hawking later married one of his caregivers, Elaine Mason. They divorced in 2006 amidst rumors of abuse by Elaine. At the time, Hawking refused to comment on the divorce. Ferguson indicates that no abuse took place. “The bottom line was ‘He loves Elaine,’” she concludes.

HD families also develop in highly complex ways. In addition to the debilitating symptoms, stigma, denial, and anger can lead both patients and caregivers to act aggressively, sometimes resulting in divorce or the splitting of extended families in disagreement about how to confront the disease.

However, I want to emphasize Jane’s decades-long support of her husband, and also how the family, friends, and colleagues rallied around Hawking in his battle against ALS.

The nursing staff played an especially important part. As Ferguson describes, the nurses made Hawking look nice by brushing his hair, polishing his glasses, and wiping his chin of the saliva that ran out of his mouth. They also spoon-fed him. Most importantly, they regularly cleared his throat with a “mini-vacuum cleaner” so that secretions did not build up in his lungs.

Institutional support was also crucial for both Hawking’s survival and scientific success. The British National Health Service would not pay for his 24-hour care, which the family naturally could not afford. The MacArthur Foundation, which funds academic research and other projects, came to the rescue with a grant to pay for the home care.

Ferguson points out that without such care Hawking would likely have languished in a nursing home.

Hawking’s fame and success have brought him almost endless privileges. Since 2000, he has flown frequently by private jet (paid for by others). In difficult situations, people and governments have made special accommodations for his disability.

Most disabled people can only dream of such special treatment.

The Hawkings’ advocacy

Nobody begrudged Hawking these wonderful advantages.

Recognizing the need to improve the plight of all disabled people, the Hawkings successfully pushed for greater institutional access for wheelchairs – a major struggle in the 1970s that is now often forgotten. “The Hawking image encouraged universities to set up dormitories equipped for students needing round-the-clock nurses in order to attend classes,” Ferguson writes.

Hawking firmly advocated that disabled children always be grouped with normal children of the same age.

Yearning for freedom for HD people

As Hawking’s mind remains free, I am fighting to keep my own mind free, along with thousands upon thousands of HD patients and gene-positive individuals.

In contemplating Hawking’s life, I fantasized about how wonderful it would have been for my mother to have had a device that allowed her to communicate with us from behind the horrible, impenetrable mask of Huntington’s disease.

At 52, I have reached my mother’s age of onset: each day I worry that Huntington’s will cut short my career as a college professor and writer and leave me unable to love and support my family as my daughter approaches adolescence and prepares to enter an expensive private school next fall.

Sadly for most HD people, Huntington’s destroys the area of the brain responsible for speech, thought, and memory.

Redoubling efforts for better care

The first effective treatments could arrive within the next five to ten years, but until then the HD community must focus on providing for – and demanding an improvement in – care for our stricken loved ones.

This will require us to redouble our efforts to change the nation’s outdated Social Security rules for HD people (click here to read more); provide Medicaid assistance without forcing couples to divorce and impoverish the sick individual to make him or her eligible; implement better standards of care as widely as possible; demand assistance for families caring for HD people in the home; and insist on better nursing home care. The lack of competent nursing home care remains one of the most intractable problems faced by HD families.

For now, this is our best hope for prolonging the lives of our loved ones and making their final years and months as comfortable as possible.

Perhaps HD people cannot have the advantages of a 24-hour team of expert nurses. But Hawking’s privileges point to a horizon of healthiness that humanity should aspire to for all disabled and ill people.

HD people have as much right as Hawking or anybody else to fair, decent, and up-to-date care.

In this fight, we can take a cue from Hawking.

“It is no use complaining about the public’s attitude about the disabled,” he declared at a speech at the University of Southern California in 1990. “It is up to disabled people to change people’s awareness in the same way that blacks and women have changed public perceptions.”