It’s time for the Huntington’s community to speak out – and HDSA is listening

The HD community has a golden opportunity to both strengthen and shape the future of the Huntington’s Disease Society of America (HDSA) and its mission of care and cure – a mission that some grassroots advocates have seen as not fully encompassing their concerns and struggles.

With a deadline of February 24, a task force of the HDSA Board of Trustees seeks feedback on a proposed strategic plan for the years 2012-2016.

“Before the Plan is finalized and implemented, we want to receive input from all interested members of the community,” HDSA CEO Louise Vetter wrote in a letter posted on the HDSA website. The letter contains a link to the plan. A feedback form is located at the end of the letter. Click here to read the letter.

“The Strategic Planning Task Force spent hundreds of hours over 18 months conducting data review, community surveys, and holding discussions with individuals from every constituency of the HD community,” Vetter stated in the letter. “They used this information to assess the business of HDSA and develop this Plan for the growth of the Society, so that we can provide more services to families affected by HD and fund more research that can improve our knowledge base on HD and therefore lead us closer to effective therapeutic interventions.”

The task force included Vetter, HDSA Board of Trustees Chairman Donald Barr, and four other board members.

HDSA CEO Louise Vetter and Board of Trustees Chairman Donald Barr (photo by Gene Veritas)

As the 2011 HDSA Person of the Year and a former board member of the San Diego chapter, I urge everybody in the HD community to become familiar with the plan and provide comments. While the Board of Trustees and the HDSA professional staff in New York City perform key leadership functions, the chapters and volunteers are the lifeblood of the organization.

We are HDSA, and it’s up to us make our voices heard.

Below I present an outline of the plan as well as my own suggestions for improving it.

Plan introduction: balancing care and cure

The first eight pages of the 39-page document provide an overview of HDSA’s values, mission, and community.

As the document states, the organization’s last strategic review took place in 1998 – well before dramatic advances in both communications and science. Since then, scientists have come much closer to understanding HD. We now stand on the verge of revolutionary clinical trials.

It’s important to point out that the CHDI Foundation, Inc., the so-called “cure HD initiative,” which spent approximately $100 million in 2011 and has a far more narrow focus than HDSA, has emerged as the non-governmental sector leader in developing potential treatments (click here to read more).

HDSA’s current budget is approximately $8.5 million. According to the 2009-2010 annual report, 26 percent of the budget went to family services, 20 percent to fundraising, 20 percent to chapter development, 17 percent to education, ten percent to management and general expenses, and just seven percent for research.

Those amounts are a far cry from the early 2000s, when HDSA annually spent millions on research.

Vetter told me in an interview in May 2011 that HDSA will strive to increase its budget to as much as $20 million. For now, however, the proposed strategic plan aims for more modest annual increases of five percent, with a goal of raising $10.2 million in 2016.

Despite CHDI’s massive investment in research, the HDSA plan proposes a continued commitment to both “care” (services, education, and advocacy) and “cure” (research). As I discuss below, HDSA aims to launch a new research program, which would complement research done by CHDI and also the Hereditary Disease Foundation (HDF).

I agree that HDSA should continue to sponsor research, but I believe it should also invest more in other areas.

In the past, HDSA has primarily supported basic research, that is, research that leads to a deeper understanding of the disease but not necessarily to immediate application as a treatment or cure. CHDI now focuses on what is called the “treatment pipeline,” the search for ways to delay or halt the progression of HD using the knowledge of basic research created by others but also through its own projects.

Of course, in this fast-paced era of biotechnology, the line between basic and applied research has becoming increasingly blurred. Frequently, scientists can quickly turn new basic knowledge into a strategy for a treatment or cure. In this respect, the HDSA plan for continued research makes sense. CHDI and the HDF will continue to perform the bulk of the research, but HDSA-sponsored research will likely turn up new clues and perhaps even potential treatments.

The more brains we have working on treatments and a cure, the better our chances of success.

A community service organization

Crucially, the strategic plan recognizes the key part played by HDSA’s 21 Centers of Excellence in providing assistance to HD patients and their families and serving as a focus for patient research and clinical trials. The creation of the Centers has given greater visibility and some additional funding to local HD clinics around the country, practically all of them associated with universities. Annually the Centers each receive about $50,000 in support from HDSA.

“The Society will seek to enhance the Centers’ role in clinical research by creating linkages with the new research program,” the document states. “Imagine if a basic scientist who was used to testing hypotheses in mice could finally test a theory on human blood samples made possible by a Center of Excellence?”

The plan involves expanding “care” from “family” services to “community” services.

“HDSA is committed to offering programs that can have the broadest impact and affect the most lives,” the document states.

The meaning of expanded care

In my opinion, the shift in emphasis from “family” to “community” stands out as the most important aspect of the plan. In light of CHDI’s emergence, I believe that HDSA can best support the cause by focusing on services to HD families, raising awareness, and recruiting individuals for research studies and clinical trials.

Indeed, the second part of the plan (pages 9-13), which outlines the seven major goals of the strategy, begins with “Goal I: Build an HD Community-service organization.”

To achieve this goal, the document sets forth four “core strategies”: 1) expanding access to clinical care; 2) enhancing social services and support resources; 3) improving access to long-term care facilities skilled in HD; and 4) increasing access to counseling.

To implement these goals, the plan proposes a series of actions. I’d emphasize two: the strengthening of the Centers of Excellence and the “development of a regional network of social workers to augment the existing National and Field-based social workers.”

The staffs of the Centers and social workers regularly come into close contact with the patients and their families. They provide the vital services and first-hand information that families so desperately need in the fight against HD. And, as HDSA recognizes, the Centers stand in the best position to help implement clinical trials.

The next six goals support the idea of community service: support of HD research, removing barriers to quality care (legislative advocacy), communication, expansion of the volunteer base (click here to read my previous analysis of this question), operating in a fiscally sound manner, and fundraising.

Trying too hard to catch up on research?

Despite the emphasis on community service and the clear movement away from pitting care against cure, the document left me with the strong impression that the task force has thought more about questions of research and less about other organizational needs such as advocacy and volunteer recruitment.

While the task force established yearly goals for all seven of the major strategic goals, it included an appendix only for research – a three-page synopsis of an HDSA research planning meeting held in April 2011. In this section (pages 37-39), I could sense the renewed commitment of HDSA to make a difference in HD research.

There and elsewhere in the plan, the task force mentioned the need to hire a “medical-scientific director to oversee and coordinate research programs.” The director would help lead HDSA’s efforts to educate the community about the importance of clinical trials and “deepen our partnerships” with other organizations seeking treatments and a cure.

The plan seems solid, in part because it gives the medical-scientific director the task of education on clinical trials.

Furthermore, the document reveals that the national board aims to end a difficult situation of delinquent payments to researchers – a situation that practically brought the Coalition for the Cure research program to a halt. According to the 2009-2010 annual report, the seven percent of the budget that backed research amounted to just $370,000. In informal conversations, I have heard that HDSA spent practically nothing on research in 2011.

Fortunately, CHDI’s large investment in research has counterbalanced HDSA’s diminished role.

However, precisely because of CHDI’s huge role in research, grassroots volunteers might wonder why other areas of the strategic plan did not receive a more detailed plan of action, not to mention the possibility of hiring, when possible, additional specialized personnel in areas such as advocacy and volunteer recruitment.

Local needs

As I wrote previously, “I believe it’s implicit that the chapters and volunteers, as usual, will need to take the initiative locally” with respect to volunteer recruitment and other activities.

To cite just two examples of local need: HDSA should increase funding to Centers of Excellence for programming and staffing, and the all-volunteer chapters could also benefit greatly from increased clerical and other paid staff support.

As someone who came to HDSA through a support group, I would have liked to see a more detailed discussion of these groups’ importance.

I agree with the plan’s assertion that “personalized support, like financial aid or case management, for every family facing HD is not realistic for the Society given our budget.” Nevertheless, I definitely believe that, along with our families, HDSA should brainstorm on how to help relieve the tremendous and often financially crippling care burden of HD. One possibility frequently mentioned in HD Facebook discussions involves support for local, private assistance initiatives. HDSA could partner with these initiatives and help raise their profile.

As a disease community, we need to become more creative in these areas – including better information for families seeking specialized nursing home care for their loved ones.

Communications and advocacy

I believe that the plan overreaches by aiming to make HDSA the “premier communicator of HD information.”

The community obtains information from a wide variety of sources. Hundreds (if not thousands) of families rely on HD Facebook communities and other sources of HD news. So far, HDSA’s presence on Facebook is limited, although the strategic plan briefly mentions the need to expand the use of the social media for advocacy and fundraising. HDSA might also promote a communications network in which it can play a key coordinating role.

In conjunction, it could form a kind of “HD news service” in which volunteers could report on HD issues in their local communities and share news items and articles with the national organization.

While HDSA has made important strides in advocacy, I believe the organization should invest even more in this area and assure long-term continuity of specific programs and initiatives. In recent decades, the organization has too often started from scratch, leaving the volunteer base confused and making advocacy inefficient. The organization also should promote greater awareness of the history of HDSA as an entity founded by a great HD advocate – Marjorie Guthrie – and partly dedicated to the memory of another great advocate of humanity – her husband Woody Guthrie.

Optimism – if we participate

I am optimistic that HDSA can reach these many goals and inspire people to become active.

We need to keep in mind that HDSA has limited resources – but also that, ultimately, we grassroots activists, volunteers, support group members, chapter board members, relatives, friends, and supporters are the organization’s most important resource.

To its credit, the HDSA Strategic Planning Task Force has defined its plan as an “active, living document” to be “reviewed regularly to revisit timelines, push progress and help the Society evaluate opportunities.”

Let’s not pass up this unique opportunity to express our opinions and make a real difference in the future of HDSA.

***
In my previous article, I mentioned that the A Physician’s Guide to the Management of Huntington’s Disease was not available online. HDSA will put the guide online following the 2012 national convention, June 8-10, in Las Vegas.

The quandary of denial in the Huntington’s disease community (Part II)

The fear of confronting the devastating, incurable, and ultimately deadly symptoms of Huntington’s disease, coupled with its terrible stigma, causes many in the HD community to go into denial. They avoid participation in research trials and other activities crucial for combating the disorder.

In Part I of this two-part series, I revealed how my own family’s struggles with HD highlight how denial hampers involvement (click here to read more).

“How do we untie this terribly complex knot of denial?” I asked. “I am in a quandary about how to act – and to overcome this problem that threatens our march to treatments and a cure.”

Here I propose some practical strategies for overcoming denial at the level of the individual, the family, and the larger HD community, including both physicians and the main organization that cares for HD families.

The struggle within

The fight against denial and for participation begins within us.

In the words of Dr. LaVonne Goodman, the founder of Huntington’s Disease Drug Works and physician to several dozen HD patients, we in the HD community “suffer not just from society and intra-family struggle – but also from internalized stigma that we have ‘learned’ from others, and incorporated into self.”

We need to block this internalized stigma from leading us into denial and preventing us from fighting both the disease and the external stigma.

Dr. LaVonne Goodman (photo by Gene Veritas)

On January 30, Dr. Goodman published a detailed article that identifies stigma as an actual “component of Huntington’s disease.”

“Stigma drives HD families into the closet where we suffer as a marginalized part of society,” Dr. Goodman wrote. “Further, the fear of stigma likely prevents those with early disease from seeking medical care, as it does with mental illness or from signing up for clinical trials. Study has shown that when society becomes aware of HD family status, individuals can experience discrimination in employment, housing, medical care and social relationships. Stigma is damaging even before clinical diagnosis, negatively affecting the quality of life for these individuals and their loved ones.”

Dr. Goodman’s article is a must-read for the entire HD community.

Why care?

We must always remember that we each have an individual responsibility in fighting HD and making others aware of our plight.

“If we don’t speak up for ourselves, why should anybody care about us?” Bill Johnston, the public relations director of the San Diego Chargers and the husband of an HD patient, once told the San Diego support group.

Exercising the power of our own voices helps rebuild our self-esteem, so easily wounded by the depressing symptoms of HD and the terrible stigma. It also builds badly needed awareness about a disease still largely unknown to the public.

Bill Johnston carrying the Olympic in 2002 to raise HD awareness (photo by Mike Nowak)

Renewed participation

While we cannot force people to come to terms with their denial and join the cause, we can set an example by daily renewing our own commitment to participate.

That commitment can include attending a support group or volunteering for the local chapter or affiliate of the Huntington’s Disease Society of America (HDSA). (Many other countries have their own HD organizations; click here to learn more.)

HDSA chapters need people to help with so much: fundraisers, advocacy, communications and media contacts, support groups, the Centers of Excellence for Family Services and Research, volunteer recruitment, education and awareness-building, and “diplomats” to provide information about clinical trials. No prior experience is necessary, and individuals of all ages and skill sets can pitch in.

Helping shape HDSA: you have till Feb. 24

In recent years, HDSA has experienced a financial and organizational crisis, and some members of the HD community have criticized it for an apparent lack of concern about the problems of the everyday HD family.

HDSA recognizes such complaints and aims to be more responsive. HDSA CEO Louise Vetter and the national board of directors want the HD community’s feedback on a proposed five-year strategy for increasing the size, reach, and impact of the organization.

You can find the link to the proposal and read Vetter’s letter soliciting input from the HD community by clicking here. The deadline for comments is February 24, 2012.

Bolstering HDSA, breaking denial

In my next article, I will comment in detail on the HDSA plan. Here I want to highlight the HDSA goal of bringing “new folks into our fight” through an increase in the number of volunteers.

“Many organizations for diseases as rare as HD are many times our size,” the proposal states. “It is imperative that we increase our capacity so that we can do more, fund more research and accelerate the accomplishment of our vision – a world free of HD.”

HDSA wants to train and “deploy an ‘army of HD’ers’ to give voice and action to HD causes and needs.” To do so, over the next five year HDSA aims to increase the number of chapters and affiliates from 45 to 55. It also aims to add at least 200 new volunteers per year. The plan states that HDSA will support the volunteer base “with resources,” presumably in the form of dollars and staff support.

The plan doesn’t specify exactly how HDSA will reach these goals. I believe it’s implicit that the chapters and volunteers, as usual, will need to take the initiative locally.

Nevertheless, the national board recognizes the need to restore some confidence lost in recent years. It wants to improve the bonds between the national office and the chapters and affiliates. Specifically, it proposes “to build a strong, ongoing dialogue … that fosters a ‘we’ and not ‘us vs. them.’”

By including input from the community and emphasizing dialogue, the planning process presents a golden opportunity for the HD community to both strengthen and shape the future of HDSA and its mission of care and cure.

By bolstering HDSA, we can help encourage the inactive members of our community to break through their denial.

Young people facing HD can also join the recently launched Huntington’s Disease Youth Organization.

The doctor’s impartial role

Breaking down denial requires education about the causes and symptoms of HD, genetic testing and discrimination, family planning, medical care and caregiving, and a wide range of other factors.

The educators in this process are multiple: HDSA, the Centers of Excellence, the support groups, the various HD Facebook groups and other web-based initiatives, social workers, genetic counselors, psychologists, and, most importantly, doctors and other medical personnel.

A doctor is often the first person to assist an individual or family confronting the onset of symptoms or learning about the disease for the first time.

Doctors, probably more than anybody else, can provide hope.

And they can prevent people from going into denial. People respect doctors, and doctors provide an impartial assessment of a person’s medical condition. People are much more likely to listen to a physician than a family member or activist with whom they’ve tangled over HD.

So, doctors need to be properly informed about HD.

A helpful guide

HD specialists and neurologists familiar with HD can skillfully diagnose, treat, and counsel HD people. However, because HD patients form a relatively small group (an estimated 30,000 individuals in the U.S.), most doctors know little, if anything, about the disease.

HDSA has sought to educate doctors about HD by publishing A Physician’s Guide to the Management of Huntington’s Disease, now in its third edition (2011). Authored by four respected HD specialists, the guide provides an overview of HD symptoms, genetic counseling and testing, treatment and care, juvenile HD, management of late-stage HD, and HD research and clinical trials.

Written in a non-technical style, the guide is an invaluable tool to educate the public.

A free flow of information

HDSA provides free copies of the print guide. However, it limits them to one per family.

Furthermore, the publication is not available online, because HDSA aims to track the physicians requesting the publication as part of the HD educational process.

A number of people in the HD community believe that HDSA should make the guide available as a downloadable PDF. Indeed, some are puzzled that, in the era of the Internet and the e-book, HDSA has not facilitated access to the publication.


I have participated in many conversations about HD on Facebook in which people ask very basic questions about HD, as well as sophisticated ones about medical matters. It would be enormously helpful to point to the document online.

In visits to my primary care doctor for non-HD matters, I’ve noted how he relies heavily on not just the health plan’s computer network, but the wider web.

Imagine a doctor seeing his or her first HD patient who has to call HDSA for a copy of the guide rather than download it.

The freer the flow of high-quality, doctor-generated information about HD, the greater our chances at ending stigma and denial.

(In a future article I will review the Physician’s Guide.)

Increasing visibility

Because doctors form the front line of diagnosis and treatment, we in the HD community must advocate the bolstering of the HDSA Centers of Excellence, support groups, and HD educational events such as the annual convention of the Northern California chapter.

We also need to participate in HDSA walks and other fundraisers that emphasize raising awareness among the general public. These events may not raise as much money as galas or other big events, but they provide a huge symbolic impact in the local community.

The more visible we can make HD in the local community, the greater the chance someone in denial might be brought to reflect on his or her predicament and the effort to defeat HD.

Then we can build a stronger movement and take one step closer to the goal we all strive for: the end of HD.

The quandary of denial in the Huntington’s disease community (Part I)

The natural human tendency toward denial presents one of the biggest obstacles to strengthening the Huntington’s disease movement, including the recruitment of individuals for the observational studies and clinical trials crucial for developing effective treatments and a cure.

How do we more proactive members of the HD community influence those living in denial? How do we convince them that they need to inform themselves about HD and join the effort to defeat it?

I have wrestled with these important questions, as well as my own multiple forms of denial, ever since learning in late 1995 that my mother had HD and that I had a 50-50 chance of inheriting the condition. My denial, and feelings about others’ denial, became dreadfully more complex after I tested positive for HD in 1999.

I remained deeply in the “HD closet” for many years because of the fear of genetic discrimination, but became vocal via this pseudonymous blog. In mid-2010, I began to speak publicly about my condition.

A year ago, I “unmasked Gene Veritas” and revealed my story to some 250 prominent scientists and other observers at the Sixth Annual HD Therapeutics Conference, sponsored by the CHDI Foundation, Inc., informally known as the “cure Huntington’s disease initiative.” I made other presentations at my local support group, an HDSA chapter convention, a pharmaceutical company aiming for a revolutionary clinical trial, and a symposium on clinical trials.

Now I want to tackle the problem of denial head-on.

Yes, we rely on denial to face the daily fear of HD symptoms, as well as the stigma accompanying the condition, but we ultimately must overcome it if we are to win the battle against HD.

And, yes, each family situation differs. In some cases, it may be easier than others. But by looking at my own family as an example, I aim to analyze some of the causes of denial, how it plays out in HD families, and how it maintains its insidious grip.

A powerful firewall

Denial often shadows my family life.

Despite my dramatic exit from the HD closet, I continue to maintain a firewall between, on the one hand, my HD activism and, on the other, the workplace and my neighborhood.

I would like to break down the neighborhood barrier, but my wife, who has lovingly stood by me through the entire trauma of the HD experience, has resisted the idea of expanding my advocacy beyond the HD community

After being named the 2011 Person of the Year of the Huntington’s Disease Society of America (HDSA) last June (click here to read more), I wanted to solicit an article in the community newspaper as a way to build awareness and support for HDSA locally. I hoped the prestige could help take my advocacy to a new level.

My wife said no. “I don’t want this in our house,” she stated adamantly, referring to HD and all of its implications, including the impact such a newspaper article might have on our daughter, now in her first year of middle school.

My daughter knows that I am gene-positive and that she tested negative in the womb, and she even has read some of my blog articles. However, my wife does not want to see her constantly exposed to HD, and she wants her to enjoy her final moments of childhood without having to worry about my health and the future impact on the family of HD when my inevitable symptoms begin.

I respected my wife’s wishes – I know she will shoulder the burdens of HD in the long run – but I was deeply frustrated. “This is such a HUGE accomplishment in my life,” I wrote in my blog notes at the time. “The greatest recognition I have received to this point – one that is about changing the world. And I can’t celebrate it!! Because of the stigma. I need to talk more, get HD out there more.”

My wife initially didn’t want to display my HDSA award plaque in our hallway of family photos, but she later changed her mind.

A bittersweet award

I wrote in my notes:

I will show plaque to [my daughter]. Families that deal with [HD] naturally and up front are the ones that have the best outcome in the long run. Denial necessary in life, but when carried to extremes, or used as the main way of dealing with life…. It becomes harmful/pernicious.

Nothing is ever simple with HD! This just can’t be a great award. [Instead] it’s got to be a reminder of my situation – and of our entire community’s situation.

Ends up being bittersweet.

If it were any other award, we’d be celebrating. No celebration. No mention. No discussion.

I hate denial!

‘Mental problems’

The HD community is filled with sad stories about denial among family members. People from HD families viscerally bond regarding the feelings of frustration, hurt, and anger over relatives’ denial.

My mother’s brother and his wife hid Huntington’s from their two children and their spouses. They explained away my mother’s behavior as “mental problems” (click here to read more). Only in the days before my mother died – six years ago this month – did my aunt tell my cousins the real cause. My cousins weren’t close to my family, but at the wake they were still so shocked by the news of HD that they cried much more than my sister, my father, and I.

Over the years I nudged my uncle, a successful small businessman and active in his community, to join the cause against HD. Many years ago, before my mother’s death, I wrote him a long and heartfelt letter outlining ways to help.

I never got a response.

To this day, I don’t know if he ever tested for HD. In his mid-70s, he has apparently showed no symptoms. Out of sight, out of mind, perhaps.

Jealousy over testing

For more than a decade, I have clashed with my sister and her family over their own denial, lack of involvement with my parents, and refusal to join the cause (click here to read more).

My sister, who to my knowledge remains untested, had her three sons before we learned of HD. Although we have never discussed it, she has undoubtedly agonized about whether she inherited the gene and, worst of all, passed it on.

She became extremely jealous of my wife and me for two big reasons: we had a daughter, and our child had tested negative.

Around that time, in 2001, my sister started to cut herself and her family off from me and my family.

Isolation

I tried to keep in contact, but she showed little interest in learning more about HD. While I have long taken doctor-approved supplements and lived with the hope that treatments could save me from developing symptoms, from what I can tell, she has chosen not to learn about such potential solutions.

As my mother declined, although I lived thousands of miles away in California, I strived to find a good care regimen for her and to assist my father with suggestions and gentle exhortations. My sister, who lived only a couple miles away in Ohio, would visit my parents but took very little initiative to improve their situation.

She became angry and resentful about my offers of assistance and suggestions. I grew increasingly frustrated with the lack of communication with the family member geographically and personally closest to my parents.

In the midst of our family’s increasing difficulties with my mother’s condition, my sister told me on the phone, “You’re not really a brother.”

I was stunned, perplexed, and offended. I had traveled regularly to my hometown to visit not just my parents, but my sister, her husband, and my three nephews. My wife and I had also offered to fly out my oldest nephew to San Diego and take him to Disneyland, Sea World, the San Diego Zoo, and other California attractions, but my sister never responded.

Failed communication

In 2005, after several years without speaking, I insisted that we reestablish communication to help my father admit my mother to a nursing home. We became close again during the final months of our mother’s life and, when she died, my sister planned the wake and funeral so that my wife, daughter, and I could fly out in time.

However, as my father rapidly declined in the wake of my mother’s death, my sister and I again disagreed about a plan of care for him. When dialogue became impossible, I asked my father’s attorney to serve as an intermediary and to assist her with his affairs, including the transition to a memory care unit in an assisted living facility.

My father died in September 2009. I learned of his death in an e-mail from the lawyer after I participated in an intense, day-long HD observational study. However, my sister did not delay the funeral, making it practically impossible to get to Ohio on time. (Click here to read more.)

I was so distraught about the situation that I also concluded I might suffer a heart attack if I attempted to attend the funeral. I organized a private memorial service for my father at our San Diego home.

I have not spoken to my sister since August 2008. In 2010 we both attended a memorial luncheon for a deceased aunt, but we did not speak or even acknowledge each other’s presence. I was still livid about her lack of compassion in failing to delay my father’s funeral so that I might participate.

Keeping a distance

At this point, the anger and resentment are so deep that I believe my sister and I may never speak again.

While I have fought to combat HD, my sister has preferred to ignore it. That has compounded the kind of intense family disagreements that sometimes accompany inevitable life-and-death issues.

After so many failed attempts at establishing a relationship with my sister, I have concluded that, because of denial and other reasons, she and her family simply have no interest in me and my family. I concluded that it would be foolish to insist.

I am a firm believer in love as a solution to many of the world’s problems, including personal hatred and misunderstanding.

In my interpretation, love means keeping one’s distance from people who don’t want a relationship.

Advocacy in my home state

On May 14, I’m tentatively scheduled to speak on my experience with HD at an HDSA event in Northeast Ohio, where I grew up and where my parents are buried side by side.

Returning to my home state to speak out as an HDSA advocate will surely stir powerful and difficult emotions.

Many questions are running through my head. Should I invite my uncle and my sister – and their families – to attend? Would they even show up after so many years of conflict and denial? Would we talk and, if so, what would we say? Part of me doesn’t want them to attend, because I fear my anger at them might diminish the effectiveness of my activism.

Frankly, I don’t think they want to hear what I have to say, especially because I advocate activism. Years ago, my sister used to read at least some of my blog, but now I have no idea whether she follows it. I doubt my uncle even knows I have a blog. Should I continue to chalk them up as a lost cause? Or, in the name of the movement, should I make the extra effort to bring them into the cause?

As an advocate, I feel obliged to reach out. However, as a member of an HD family, I feel forlorn about the prospects for action by people such as my uncle and sister.

How to untie this knot?

I am reaping the fruits of my family’s long denial of HD.

The great irony is that my sister, my uncle, and their families probably don’t even know that I was named the HDSA Person of the Year.

The easy solution is to do nothing about the May event. Despite my award and my long years in the HD trenches, I feel powerless to change them.

My fellow HD activists, family members, and friends, what would you do?

How do we untie this terribly complex knot of denial?

I am in quandary about how to act – and to overcome this problem that threatens our march to treatments and a cure.

Continuing to speak out

Denial is like an added curse on HD families already so overwhelmed with the disease’s medical burdens.

My family’s story pales in comparison to other examples of denial and insensitivity.

As I reflect on these stories, I’m struck by the immensity of the stigma surrounding HD.

Perhaps I can take comfort in the fact that, no matter what my uncle or sister or anybody else thinks, I will speak out again about HD on May 14. In the final analysis, that is all I can do.

Someone will be listening, and that is good.

(Next: further reflections and concrete suggestions for overcoming denial.)

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

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

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

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

Two views, two necessities

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

The rhythm of life

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Enjoying the ride

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Advocacy pays off: Huntington’s disease stem-cell research advances in California

Grass-roots advocacy for Huntington’s disease stem-cell research is paying off.

Using funds from the state of California secured with the help of advocates, leading HD stem-cell scientists are taking important steps towards developing potential ways to treat, reverse, and perhaps even cure HD.

These funds come from the California Institute for Regenerative Medicine (CIRM), the $3 billion initiative approved by the state’s voters in November 2004 to establish grants and loans for stem-cell research aimed at rapidly developing treatments for a host of diseases.

Leading stem-cell advocates had successfully worked to get the measure on the ballot as a state initiative after President George W. Bush had signed an order blocking the establishment of new human embryonic stem-cell lines, which scientists needed to expand research in the field. President Barack Obama later rescinded that order.

CIRM projects have spurred the creation of new embryonic stem-cell research, as well as other kinds of stem cells.

Millions in funding

While the CIRM oversight board has representatives concerned with Alzheimer’s disease and diabetes, among other conditions, it has no representative from the Huntington’s disease community.

Nevertheless, in 2007, as CIRM prepared to award its first research grants, California’s grass-roots HD activists began campaigning for the board to address Huntington’s stem-cell projects.

In October of that year, I arranged for Bill Johnston, the public relations director of the San Diego Chargers and the president of the San Diego Chapter of the Huntington’s Disease Society of America, to appeal to the oversight board during a public meeting in San Diego. As he spoke, Johnston held his wife Ramona, who has HD. This was the very first time that a member of the HD community had appeared before the board.

I also spearheaded the organization of the December 2007 CIRM “Spotlight on Huntington’s Disease,” held at the University of California, Los Angeles. The presentation included talks by two leading scientists, as well as a plea for HD research from activist Frances Saldaña and her daughter Margie Hayes, one of three siblings who developed juvenile HD and the mother of two at-risk children. (For more on these first meetings, click here.)

As mother Frances Saldaña (left) looks on, Margie Hayes tells about her struggle against HD at the CIRM Spotlight on Huntington's Disease, Los Angeles, December 12, 2007 (photo by Gene Veritas).

CIRM President Dr. Alan Trounson (left) with Alexa Shaffer and mother Sharon. Sharon has HD, and Alexa is at risk. They told their stories at a CIRM board meeting in San Diego on September 25, 2008 (photo by Gene Veritas).

Advocates throughout California joined hands in this cause, with other HD family members speaking before the oversight board at its regular public meetings in different parts of the state. (For the sake of brevity, I won’t list the names of the numerous dedicated individuals involved in these efforts.)

Together with the researchers’ meticulously prepared grant applications, this advocacy has generated solid results: to date, HD stem-cell research projects, based mainly at the University of California, Davis (UC Davis), and the University of California, Irvine (UCI), have received $7.9 million in CIRM funding.

Striving for an HD ‘Disease Team’

Tomorrow, January 24, Jan Nolta, Ph.D., the director of the UC Davis Institute for Regenerative Cures, will submit an application to CIRM for a $20 million project to fund an HD “Disease Team.” The team will aim to develop the very first human clinical trial for an HD stem-cell treatment, which would involve attacking the disease at its genetic roots and infusing the brain with an important growth factor known as BDNF.

Just last month, Dr. Nolta published a scientific article demonstrating promising results in pre-clinical experiments, which must precede human trials (click here to read more).

Dr. Nolta uses a well-known type of stem cells, called “mesenchymal stem cells.” A long-time expert on these cells, Dr. Nolta refers to them as “paramedics” because of the way they congregate around and repair damaged cells.

Dr. Nolta at the HD bench at the Institute for Regenerative Cures (photo by Gene Veritas)

Last May I spent a day interviewing Dr. Nolta and observing the work of the UC Davis institute, co-founded by the university and CIRM (click here to read more about my visit and Dr. Nolta’s work).

Once again, we will mobilize our California network of advocates, this time in support of the HD Disease Team application. We want to stress the urgency of finding treatments for this killer disease and the importance of HD research in advancing the stem-cell field.

New stem-cell lines

At UCI, HD stem-cell research has progressed rapidly under the leadership of Dr. Leslie Thompson, a professor in the UCI School of Medicine’s Departments of Psychiatry and Human Behavior, the interim director of the Center for Mitochondrial and Molecular Medicine and Genetics, and a holder of various other positions within the university.

With one CIRM grant of $900,000, awarded in 2008, Dr. Thompson and her researchers are creating new neuronal (brain) stem cells. They produce these cells by taking skin-cell samples from both HD-affected and non-HD people, “reprogramming” them to become stem cells, and then “differentiating” them into the neuronal stem cells.

From these new cells, they eventually hope to obtain medium spiny neurons, the kind of brain cell most affected by HD. The disease occurs because these cells malfunction, become damaged, and die. Using the neuronal stem cells, the research team can study HD at work in a live, real-time human setting.

This grant also funds research on human stem cells taken from embryos discarded by couples who underwent PGD (preimplantation genetic diagnosis) in order to have HD-free children. In this project, Dr. Thompson and her researchers have succeeded in establishing one new line of human embryonic stem cells, which will be used to study HD.

Announced in late 2010, a second CIRM grant of $3.8 million funds a UCI project that seeks to develop a stem-cell treatment for study in HD mice. The initial experiments in this project demonstrate that the mice’s symptoms improve after the introduction of mouse stem cells into their brains. The second stage is examining the effect of human stem cells on the mouse brains.

Later, Dr. Thompson hopes to apply for another HD Disease Team grant to develop ways to apply her research for potential stem-cell treatments in humans.

In future articles, I will explore in greater depth how Dr. Nolta’s and Dr. Thompson’s respective projects could lead to effective treatments.

The impact of our work

Interviewing Dr. Thompson in her office on January 20, I felt a deep sense of accomplishment.

In an instant, I felt as if time had fast-forwarded me from 2007, when she and I prepared intensely to organize the CIRM Spotlight on HD, to the present, when the results of the statewide advocacy efforts are blooming in the UCI labs.

I had advocated with and for Dr. Thompson, and now I was sitting across from her and hearing good news.

Dr. Thompson (left) with Frances Saldaña at the Huntington's Study Group meeting in San Diego, October 16, 2010 (photo by Gene Veritas)

In voting for the CIRM, and then advocating for specific HD projects, we had achieved a historic breakthrough for HD research.

In hearing Dr. Thompson discuss the establishment of a new stem-cell line from the PGD embryos, I felt how profoundly political our advocacy has been, and how it directly impacts the quest for treatments and a cure.

The moment was exhilarating.

Gene Veritas: Back when the big controversy was occurring, when Bush said, “No more new lines,” this is a --

Leslie Thompson: A new line.

GV: This is a new line that, thanks to the CIRM and the law in California, was supposed to occur.

LT: Thanks to the CIRM. Correct.

GV: So we’re seeing an actual impact of a political decision here to do something.

LT: Yes. All of it. All of [the stem-cell work]. Because we wouldn’t be able to do this work without CIRM funding.

We can all advocate for the cause

Advocacy is one of the biggest challenges for the HD movement. It demands long hours of preparation, the study of complex issues, networking, and efforts to gain access to public officials and other powerful individuals.

It also requires patience, dedication, and teamwork. We California advocates have recognized these requirements and tried our best to practice them.

On the stem-cell front, we have in our favor a great set of universities with top-flight scientists like Dr. Nolta and Dr. Thompson. Both are well-known in the HD community, and both dedicate time outside of work to supporting it. Dr. Thompson finds inspiration in HD families. A newcomer to HD research, Dr. Nolta took on this new field after coming into contact with the local HD medical specialist, Dr. Vicki Wheelock, and the community she serves.

Advocates and scientists have meshed well throughout the crusade for stem-cell treatments.

Finally, I believe our advocacy has proved effective because of the willingness of affected families to tell their stories in public – despite the pain or awkwardness it might cause – at CIRM meetings and to the doctors and physicians involved in HD research.

All of us in the HD community can become advocates. We need people to work on all levels – from meeting with government officials to writing letters. And we must always speak out.

You never know. Someone with the willingness and resources to help might just be listening. You can inspire that person to act.

(To learn more about California HD advocacy, please click here. To learn about national advocacy efforts, please click here.)

Let’s turn grief for ‘HD Angels’ into new impetus for the Huntington’s cure

The Huntington’s disease angels are sending us all an urgent message: we must redouble the effort to find effective treatments and a cure for this devil of a disease.

In the past few days, two more HD angels – children who have succumbed to this disease – have passed on.

On January 11, nine-year-old Kathleen Edward died while surrounded by loved ones in her Wyandotte, Michigan, home.

Kathleen and grandmother Rebecca (family photo)

On January 15 another child, twelve-year-old Olivia Ruggiano, died in Philadelphia.

While HD affects people of all ages, the ten percent of cases classified as juvenile Huntington’s disease (JHD) wrenchingly dramatize the disease’s crippling effect. Children and teenagers afflicted with JHD never experience a normal life. As in Kathleen’s and Olivia’s cases, some don’t even reach adulthood.

Together with Kathleen’s and Olivia’s families, the HD community grieves deeply: two young lives ended hopelessly.

Their deaths provide a startling reminder of the lack of treatments.

These HD angels want us all to cry out for increased funding for HD research – including the understudied juvenile onset – and a commitment from drug developers to broaden and speed up the search for treatments and a cure.

Two brave girls

In life, both Kathleen and Olivia had received an outpouring of sustenance from the HD community and beyond.

In 2010 a hateful neighbor, upset over a misunderstanding about a children’s birthday party, started feuding with Kathleen’s family. The neighbor bullied Kathleen on Facebook by posting a photo of the girl positioned over a set of crossbones. Another photo showed Kathleen’s HD-stricken mother in the arms of the Grim Reaper.

News coverage of the incident spurred donations to the family and expressions of support from around the world. Thanks to many generous individuals, Kathleen had the opportunity to go on a shopping spree – but only after first choosing gifts for her family members. (Click here to read more about this incident.)

“Olivia was a normal child who loved to wear frilly dresses with dirty knees while digging for worms,” Olivia’s mother Jennifer wrote on a fundraising site for the Delaware Valley Chapter of the Huntington’s Disease Society of America (HDSA). “Strong willed but always ready with a smile, giggle or hugs. She began showing developmental delays at 4 1/2, a slight lisp, uncoordinated, tripping a lot, dropping things.”

Olivia and friend at HDSA fundraising walk

“Then the focal seizures came, the first one being discovered the last day of day care before starting kindergarten,” Jennifer continued, referring to how Olivia would lean back and prop up her head, and then let her head drop into her lap. “We thought she was just being difficult or having selective hearing. Then they developed into stronger more intense seizures. Late in December 2007, right before Christmas she went into status (non-stop seizures).... Since then she has been on a spiral downhill.”

On a Facebook page titled “We All LOVE Olivia Ruggiano,” supporters and members of the HD community left Olivia a constant stream of encouraging messages as she struggled against the disease. Jennifer and other family members read the messages out loud to Olivia and, holding up a laptop, showed her the pictures people had posted.

Words of support

At Kathleen’s funeral on January 14, so many mourners turned out that the funeral home ran out of the flags fastened to cars in the procession to the cemetery, Rebecca told me via Facebook. Kathleen was buried next to her mother Laura Edward, who died of HD in 2009.

The Detroit Free Press ran two articles about Kathleen.

“Those who knew 9-year-old Kathleen Edward will never forget her infectious smile, one seen throughout her battle with juvenile Huntington’s disease,” one of the articles began.

The paper quoted grandmother Rebecca: “She suffered with this disease for a while, and she never complained,” Rebecca told the paper. “She was always happy, always smiling.”

You can watch a tribute to Kathleen in the video below.




After the two girls passed, scores of Facebook members expressed their condolences.

“We are all in mourning over Olivia leaving us,” one HD activist wrote on Olivia’s Facebook page. “Heaven is rejoicing to receive angel Olivia where she can be closer to everyone’s heart.”

“Know that we are with you in spirit,” another supporter wrote. “It’s going to be hard, but as Olivia was strong, you are also. Smile thru your tears. She is free. Love to all of you.”

News of the girls’ deaths and condolences also went out on other HD Facebook pages, including two dedicated to HD angels, Rebecca’s page, and Olivia’s mother’s page.

Viewing of Olivia will take place at Stolfo Funeral Home in Philadelphia 7-9 p.m. on January 19 and 8:30-10:30 a.m. on January 20, followed by a funeral Mass at 11 a.m. at Stella Maris Parish. In lieu of flowers the family requests donations be made to the Philly HERO Trust, P.O. Box 18008, Philadelphia, PA 19147.

Remembering the Ruggianos’ fight

In a phone conversation last night, Jennifer graciously recalled Olivia’s and her family’s fight against HD.

Jennifer started dating Ron Ruggiano in 1994, the same year his mother died of HD. Jennifer and Ron married in 1996.

As in many HD families, the disease was “a taboo subject in his family,” Jennifer said. But his mother’s death alerted Jennifer to the existence of the disease in the family. She contacted HDSA and learned what she could about the disorder, including the fact that a male could pass on a far worse form of the disease than he himself has.

Ron had not been tested for HD, so the couple knew that having gene-negative children was “a roll of the dice,” with a 50-50 chance of their children inheriting the defective gene, Jennifer recounted. In 1997 they had a daughter, Rania, who has not demonstrated symptoms of JHD (but has not been tested). Two years later, Olivia arrived.

Ron started to show the behavioral difficulties that often occur in the early stages of HD. In 2000, he was clinically diagnosed with the disease.

An astounding level of disease

On that fateful last day of daycare before kindergarten when Olivia had seizures, “she was speaking gibberish and not making any sense at all,” Jennifer remembered. “It just mushroomed from there. She was clumsy. She would fall down and trip a lot.”

Nevertheless, Olivia entered elementary school, where she participated in a small life skills class for the severely disabled. She stayed almost through the end of fifth grade.

Olivia (family photo)

“Sometimes she didn’t want to go to school,” Jennifer said, chuckling, “but she went. Sometimes she would fake her seizures. She was a smart little cookie.”

In 2007 both Olivia and her father finally underwent HD testing at Johns Hopkins University in Baltimore. Whereas a normal huntingtin gene has only ten to 29 repeats, Ron’s had 50 – ten repeats beyond the level that causes HD. Olivia had an astounding 109 repeats – a number that doomed her to childhood onset and an early death.

Olivia’s joys

Despite this terrible fate, Olivia strived to live like any child.

“She loved to dance,” Jennifer reminisced. “She loved to sing. She loved to watch musicals: of course, the Wizard of Oz, Grease, any kind of musical, Hairspray, all the Disney movies.”

Olivia also loved to help her mother cook and care for the home. She wouldn’t miss a chance to play in the pool at her cousin’s house or visit the New Jersey shore with her family.

Olivia was a “little devilish” in everything she did, Jennifer said. And she had a fascination with bugs. “She could spot an ant ten feet away,” Jennifer said, laughing.

With Ron unable to work, he received Social Security disability payments. Olivia further supported the family with her salary as a legal clerk in the Pennsylvania courts. A heavy emotional burden also fell onto Rania, as she watched her mother pay ever greater attention to Olivia.

The family dealt with HD as proactively as possible, Jennifer explained. In 2008 doctors gave Olivia a feeding tube to keep her properly nourished.

Meanwhile, in February 2010, Ron entered a nursing home, where, at 43, he struggles against HD.

A turn for the worse

Olivia’s health worsened dramatically in December 2010. She spent nearly the entire month hospitalized.

Just ten days after returning home, she developed an infection. “That’s when I made the decision not to take her back to the hospital,” Jennifer said. She decided that Olivia would live at home until she died.

Olivia continued to decline throughout 2011.

“She was on so many medications,” Jennifer recalled. “She was taking 40 milligrams of valium every four hours.”

Along with Olivia’s nurses, the family kept Olivia as comfortable as possible. On Thanksgiving Day, for example, they dressed her up in a pink dress and sweater and placed a pink flower in her hair. “Her nurses absolutely spoiled her,” Jennifer said.

Olivia at home on Thanksgiving Day, 2011 (family photo)

Olivia’s legacy

I asked Jennifer about Olivia’s legacy.

“She’s just another bright light,” she said, “another child that just fought … and fought … and fought.”

As an HD angel, Olivia will inspire others to fight – and will also contribute to the search for treatments and a cure. Months after undergoing genetic testing, both she and Ron donated cells for research. As Jennifer explained, researchers were able to make the cells from Olivia’s forearm reproduce and are hoping to induce them into becoming stem cells. Olivia’s cells could eventually end up in labs around the world that focus on developing treatments for HD.

Time for treatments

After learning about Kathleen and Olivia, my wife and I became saddened and distraught. Once again we relived the painful moments of 1999 and early 2000, when I tested positive for HD and we subsequently tested our daughter in the womb.

Our “miracle baby” tested negative, but had she inherited the HD gene, my wife would now face the terrible prospect of caring for two HD patients.

I became angry and depressed that HD had once again victimized families, and I feared that my own symptoms might start soon, leaving my unable to work and to enjoy my own family.

I also felt the urge to fight back.

“We must find treatments and a cure so that no more children suffer with Huntington’s disease,” I wrote on Olivia’s page.

The angels have fought bravely, but our community wearies as it sheds yet more tears of sorrow.

We need treatments now.

Seven years of striving for a realistic and unapologetic view of Huntington’s disease

This week marks the seventh anniversary of this blog.

On January 10, 2005, I inaugurated the blog with this sentence: “My name is Gene Veritas and I am at risk for Huntington’s disease.” The article was titled “Huntington’s disease: an early date with mortality.” I adopted a pseudonym – the “truth in my genes” – to protect my family’s privacy, avoid genetic discrimination, and express myself freely.

I wasn’t sure where the blog would go, but since then I have written a total of 118 articles, exploring in depth the many facets of HD.

Baring my soul

I have bared my soul about HD. I have chronicled my mother’s downfall and my devastation after her death, my father’s dedication as her “HD warrior” caregiver, and my conversations with my daughter about HD as she moved from early childhood into the pre-teen years. I inherited the HD gene from my mother but, as my wife and I thank God, did not pass it on to our “miracle baby.”

I also have tried to document the completely new, little-known, and harrowing human experience of living in the gray zone between a genetic test result and disease onset. Along those lines, At Risk for Huntington’s Disease has served as both a coping mechanism and method of advocacy. I have written frequently about my fears – and of my frenetic activity in the effort to defeat HD. For me it provides catharsis – and a stimulus to my brain in the hopes of staving off HD’s inevitable symptoms.

For a community desperate for good news, I have strived to make At Risk a beacon of hope. I have reported from the frontiers of science in articles about research conferences and potential treatments such as the effort by Alnylam Pharmaceuticals to devise a drug to stop HD at its genetic roots.

And the blog has helped me to exit the terrible and lonely “HD closet,” where I long hid because of fear of genetic discrimination. In February 2011, I gave the keynote address at the “Super Bowl” of HD research, the sixth annual HD Therapeutics Conference of the CHDI Foundation, Inc. (CHDI,backed by wealthy, anonymous donors, is the so-called “cure HD initiative.”) I posted a video of the speech in the blog. Since then I have written about other public speeches and posted videos from them.

Valuable lessons

I also have explored the many lessons gained from my fight. I have learned to put life in a broader perspective, to pay greater attention to my family, and to value the preciousness of time. Like Michael J. Fox, I consider myself a “lucky man” because of the richer life I have lived.

In At Risk, I have confronted the deep challenge to my Catholic faith posed by the threat of HD. That threat led me to explore the spiritual dimensions of my struggle, and it has strengthened my faith and expanded my understanding of life’s purpose. I embrace a new kind of faith – not one of passive acceptance of one’s condition but of active transformation of the world.

The threat of HD and my role as blogger have given me an important mission: to stop the suffering caused by brain diseases.

Difficult truths

The more I have enmeshed myself in the far-flung HD community, the more I feel the urgency of my mission.

When I write, I feel raw anxiety as I am forced to contemplate my gene-positive predicament. I share that anxiety with many in our community as they struggle with symptoms or worry about onset. The lack of an effective treatment, much less a cure, further deepens our collective fear, pushing many people into the closet and away from the research studies and clinical trials necessary for finding solutions.

Indeed, because of the harrowing nature of this existence, I often feel as if the articles somehow write themselves – as if a mysterious, hidden hand were assigning me each topic and guiding my fingers across my computer keyboard.

At Risk has stirred emotions and shed light on difficult truths in a community where silence and stigma are too often the rule.

This past year was especially intense. I wrote 33 articles, and my audience grew as I expanded my blog e-mail list and increased my number of Facebook friends to more than 2,000. In June the Huntington’s Disease Society of America named me its 2011 HDSA Person of the Year for my advocacy and blogging efforts.

In 2011, I focused on such difficult topics as HD and dating, conflict and competition within and among the various HD organizations, and the need to combat complacency to generate enough volunteers for the upcoming clinical trials.

My article about the media and the astronomical rate of suicide in the HD community prompted one activist to request that I stop posting links to my blog on a Facebook page for young people and HD.

While my training as a journalist and a historian might have prompted a response emphasizing free speech – why should someone else deny others information? – HD has a way of challenging any belief in absolutes. I agreed to let the activist serve as a gatekeeper for that Facebook page and to decide whether to post my articles.

Challenging absolutes: HD and abortion

Just last month, the issue of absolutes was tested in a way many readers found personal, and painful.

I tackled – as fairly as I could – the issue of HD and abortion, examining the cases of two families, one opting for genetic testing and termination, the other forgoing testing and deciding to carry the pregnancy to term.

Interviewing the families and writing the articles presented one of my most difficult challenges in nearly 14 years as an HD advocate. Hearing their stories stirred up sad memories of the horrible weeks of worrying and wondering as my wife and I awaited the results of our daughter’s HD test in early 2000.

I received a record number of comments on the blog as well as numerous comments on Facebook.

Some commentators described the first family as “murderers.”

“I think that posting this article glorifying the killing of a baby is irresponsible of you,” wrote one commentator who opposes abortion and hadn’t slept for two nights after reading the first article. “You are a powerful voice in our community, and I am disappointed in your blog, especially around the holiday season…. It is sad that a family who kills their baby because it has the gene for HD is glorified.”

Others warned against passing judgment, urging compassion for families facing such terrible choices.

“I really absolutely admire your bravery in exposing this disease in a realistic and unapologetic way,” wrote Stella, another gene-positive blogger, in response to the same article. “As for this family, I wish I could just hug them all.”

Combating stigma (again)

My articles led Dr. LaVonne Goodman, the founder of Huntington’s Disease Drug Works and physician to several dozen HD patients, to write a scientifically informed article on “choice and reproductive decision-making in HD.”

In this balanced piece, Dr. Goodman referred to the deep controversy raised by my articles and once again raised the crucial question of stigma and its stifling impact on HD families.

“Those who are affected by identifiable genetic disease like HD suffer not just from societal and intra-family stigma – but also from internalized stigma that we have ‘learned’ from others, and incorporated into self,” Dr. Goodman wrote. “Often internalized stigma has great negative impact on HD individuals and families…. How many decisions are made because we hate aspects of ourselves – not just the disease?

“The goal is to make life worth living: No one should answer for another whether life was, is, or will be worth living [just] because HD gets bad for a long time at the end. Instead all of us, our HD institutions, our organization, and our families should put more energy into improving treatment and care for those with HD, so that lives become more worth living. And we should work to identify, describe, and decrease HD stigma – which adds so much burden for all in HD families. And in regard to helping with reproductive decisions we should work to provide non-discriminatory support and easier voluntary access to PGD [pre-implantation genetic diagnosis] with attention to supporting the emotional and financial costs involved in this procedure.”

No need to apologize

I often wonder: how many tragic stories do we never hear because of people’s inability or unwillingness to exit the HD closet?

Indeed, because of understandable but unfortunate feelings of stigma, our community often seems timid and even apologetic – precisely the attitude that we can and should combat. Everyone can contribute to this effort – by participating in a support group, joining the local HDSA chapter or affiliate, or volunteering at fundraising events.

No one should apologize for having HD, living at risk, caring for an HD person, questioning the scientific and organizational status quo, or raising awareness!

We all rely on denial to get over the daily fear of HD, but ultimately we must compartmentalize denial and confront the truth of our existence.

No one need hide the hard reality of HD. It is a fact of our lives – and a crucial event in the quest to control neurological disorders and improve the overall health of the brain.

The next seven-year cycle

In popular wisdom, life proceeds in seven-year cycles.

Seven years ago, I fully expected that by now – age 52 and the time of onset of my mother – to have symptoms and be unable to write. I have been extremely lucky in remaining asymptomatic.

I fervently hope to proceed through my next seven-year cycle without symptoms. Until a treatment is found, this can only mean an even deeper commitment to the cause – but also to enjoying the healthy moments, the blessing of each symptom-free day.

During this new cycle, my daughter will grow into a young woman and prepare to head off to college.

Will I stave off HD in order to help her reach her goal and watch her enjoy her own life?

Or, in a darker scenario, will she become my caregiver and perhaps even shoulder the task of writing occasional updates to this blog?

These kinds of questions will haunt my days as I await news of a treatment.

No matter what the outcome, I will proceed as unapologetically as ever.

Striving for brave new brains

As I turned 52 on December 31 and a new year dawned on the world, I came ever closer to onset of Huntington’s disease, the cruel killer that took my mother’s life in 2006 at the age of just 68.

However, in 2012 I also will live with the hope that, as science and medicine progress with time, researchers will control and perhaps even eradicate HD.

Indeed, we stand on the verge of a new age. Neuroscience, brain scans, our understanding of genetics, and brain-machine interfaces will vastly improve the health and capabilities of the brain and perhaps enable the cure of HD, Alzheimer’s, Parkinson’s, Lou Gehrig’s, stroke, and numerous other maladies of the central nervous system.

On Christmas and my birthday I was able to celebrate the results of my annual check-up at the local HD clinic on December 20: the doctor marveled at how, despite carrying the same genetic defect as my mother, I have yet to show any apparent external symptoms of the disease (click here and here to read about my HD-avoidance strategies).

With the predicted biotechnological advances, those of us who are gene-positive may someday put bionic brains on our birthday wish lists – brains without risk of HD and that enhance mental capabilities far beyond anything we can currently imagine. Even sooner, advances in medicine may deliver drugs and techniques that counteract the cruel changes wrought in HD brains.

Breathtaking predictions

I contemplated these possibilities during my holiday reading, which included Judith Horstman’s The Scientific American Brave New Brain: How Neuroscience, Brain-Machine Interfaces, Psychopharmacology, Epigenetics, the Internet, and Our Own Minds Are Stimulating and Enhancing the Future of Mental Power, an exciting, easy-to-read synopsis of recent advances in brain science.

Horstman outlines how brain scientists predict breathtaking breakthroughs by mid-century – most with a firm foot in current reality.

According to scientific forecasters, “computer chips or mini-processors in the brain will expand memory; control symptoms of brain disease, from Parkinson’s disease to depression and anxiety; and wirelessly receive and transmit information so that you won’t need a cell phone or a computer to stay in touch.”

“Brain surgery will be a thing of the past except in the most severe cases,” Horstman continues. “Advanced neuroimaging will identify mental illness and brain disease before symptoms show and in general be used to ‘read’ minds and predict and control behavior. Microscopic robots – nanobots – will enter your bloodstream to diagnose and repair brain damage. Protein molecules will travel your brain in a similar way to turn on or off brain cells or genes responsible for brain diseases.”

Brave New Brain explores numerous other current and potential facets of brain health and related technologies, including:

● neurogenesis (the growth of new brain cells);

● deep brain stimulation and “brain pacemakers” (using electricity to stimulate brain health and performance);

● brain-nurturing mental and physical practices such as meditation, breathing, and yoga;

● the impact of digital technology on the brain and its integration into the brain;

● artificial intelligence;

● miniature cameras for broadcasting images of the inner workings of the brain;

● thought-activated neural implants (for example, for working mechanical limbs);

● prostheses of portions of the brain (people are already living with artificial retinas and cochleas, the auditory portion of the inner ear);

● and, in one forecaster’s view, the downloading of our brains onto chips “so our consciousness can live on forever, perhaps even downloaded into robots – or into an avatar, an ageless biological clone,” perhaps making us an endangered species increasingly replaced by cyborgs.

“Neuroethicists” and others worry that “humans will become machines,” Horstman observes. These individuals also point out new issues involving privacy in genetic testing; ownership of body parts, tissues, and genes; insurance discrimination; potential abuse of new technologies by employers and others; and the impact of all of these changes on social equality and our way of controlling criminals. Neuroethicists are grappling with these many issues.

Curing dementia

According to Horstman, Alzheimer’s, other dementias, and perhaps even mental retardation will be “preventable, curable, and even reversible in many people.”

The demand for cures is immense: some two billion people worldwide suffer from a brain-related illness, with an annual economic cost of more than $2 trillion, Horstman writes. Almost half of all people over age 85 develop dementia, and by 2050 an estimated 100 million individuals will experience this condition.

Offering a glimpse of how these cures could take place, Horstman writes of “brain boggling” nanotechnologies such as “preparing specialized protein molecules that swim to a predetermined site and are activated externally by probes or lasers that turn off or on specific genes.”

This kind of “nanomedicine” would allow medical treatments to leap across the formidable blood-brain barrier, which separates the bloodstream from the fluid that bathes and cushions our brains, Horstman explains.

Alnylam’s HD gene-silencing trial

The trends in neuroscience and related fields mean that scientists someday will likely control HD and perhaps, as Horstman describes, completely turn off the gene that causes it.

Key research in “gene silencing” already holds great promise.

In partnership with Medtronic, in 2012 Alnylam Pharmaceuticals plans to apply to the federal Food and Drug Administration (FDA) to conduct a Phase I clinical trial of a drug containing ALN-HTT, a small interfering RNA molecule (siRNA) that doctors will inject into the brains of trial participants.

Conducting a brain operation, doctors will run thin tubing under the skin from a Medtronic-designed pump to a nodule at the top of the patients’ heads, and from that point a very fine needle will deliver the drug into the putamen, one of the regions of the brain most devastated by HD (click here to read more).

If the Phase I trial demonstrates the safety of ALN-HTT, Alynlam will proceed to Phase II to measure the efficacy of the drug.

Alnylam intends to use ALN-HTT to silence the huntingtin gene so that less huntingtin protein is produced to harm brain cells. If successful, the treatment would save brain cells from dying and slow down and possibly even reverse the course of HD.

A decade ago, this approach seemed like science fiction. Today, it provides immense hope that HD will be controlled in our lifetimes.

On December 28, 2011, Alnylam presented a highly positive report: testing of ALN-HTT in non-human primates demonstrated “widespread distribution of the siRNA and significant silencing of the huntingtin mRNA.” The drug was well tolerated.

Conducted in collaboration with Medtronic and a research team at the University of Kentucky, the study will greatly facilitate the FDA application for a human trial.

Isis Pharmaceuticals, Inc. is developing a similar approach for treating HD and hopes to apply for its own Phase I clinical trial, perhaps within the next year or two (click here to read more).

The pioneering HD community

As Horstman describes, such gene silencing techniques only scratch the surface of the great potential in brain-disease treatments. Indeed, we may someday look back on these initial attempts as primitive.

But they are revolutionary. We in the HD community are helping to pioneer this revolution in brain science by participating in research studies and clinical trials, fighting the terrible stigma associated with the disease, and, as I did last February, exiting the terrible “HD closet” to tell the world about the need to defeat HD and other neurological disorders.

HD families no longer stand alone. Our movement has gone global – with international conferences run by research organizations, numerous HD-related websites, and the establishment of Enroll-HD, a multi-country database of HD-affected, gene-positive, and untested at-risk individuals. Just last month a new HD group formed in China, the world’s most populous country.

We stand on the frontier of science, and for this reason in 2012 and beyond we can forge ahead proudly and bravely.

It’s up to us to lead the way. If we all unite and participate in this great movement, we can help build toward the bionic brains of the future.

Kate's untested baby (Huntington’s disease and abortion – Part II)

Kate Sandbulte, a 20-year-old woman who lives in Iowa, long lived life to the fullest.

Her mother, Tara Hansen, recalled that Kate was “was always doing ten different things at one time.” For example, as Tara has written, Kate was a “very fast learner and was able to capture the hearts of anyone who crossed her path. She learned to walk at nine months of age and was speaking in full sentences by the time she was a year old. She grew into a feisty little girl.... She was very smart and was often found to be a peacemaker and could be found defending anyone who was hurt or sad” (click here to read more).

Kate loved painting, played basketball and the clarinet in junior high, and adored the 1960s, from Janis Joplin and heavy metal to peasant blouses and flare jeans. She helped raise three half-brothers.

“She’s always been the kind of kid who can roll with the punches,” Tara added with pride. “She never gets too upset about anything.”

Two big blows

However, Kate has faced some of the biggest blows that life could possibly level. For the past five years, Kate has had juvenile Huntington’s disease. Now she is pregnant with an unexpected child, who has a 50% chance of being gene-positive.

Although Kate could test the first trimester fetus for HD, she has decided not to. She plans to have her baby, even though both she and the child might not live beyond their mid-30s, and she and the baby’s father do not plan to marry. Fortunately, Kate can rely on her mother, who’s still in her 30s and has pledged to do all she can to take care of Kate and the child.

“She was on two forms of birth control, and it was not planned,” Tara told me in a Facebook message after I had seen her November 26 post announcing Kate’s pregnancy. “She always said that if she had HD, she didn’t want a baby because of the chance of passing it on. She cried for a week after reading the pregnancy test. She worried just as any mom would about the baby’s health and the effects of the (HD) meds she was on.”

“But then she saw the heartbeat of the baby,” Tara continued. “She cried tears of joy and is now taking better care of herself and now has hope for her baby. She said, ‘Perhaps this child can offer you comfort when I am gone, Mom.’ She knows God gives life for a reason. And no matter what – HD or not – this child will be loved, just as she is.”

Kate (left) and Tara at the HDSA national convention in Minneapolis in June (family photo)

Personal thoughts

Kate’s decision to risk passing on juvenile HD represents the other side of the coin of the wrenching decision made by the Wright family of Florida to abort their gene-positive, premature infant son and donate his brain for research towards treatments and a cure.

The first of this two-part series on HD and abortion – my article on Christina, Michael, and Timothy John Wright – provoked the most heated reaction by readers since the blog’s inception some seven years ago. (Click here to read the article and reader comments.)

Both families cited deep religious convictions as guideposts for their decisions. The Wrights are Catholic, and Kate and her family belong to a non-denominational Christian church that stresses love and the equality of all people.

As I interviewed and wrote about the two families, it stirred difficult memories of my wife’s and my decision to test our daughter in the womb in the winter of 1999-2000, just six months after I had tested positive. Luckily, our “miracle baby” tested negative. She is a thriving sixth grader now applying to college-prep schools.

I told the Wrights that I supported their decision.

I also support Kate’s decision. During my phone interview with Tara, I congratulated her and her family on the pregnancy and expressed my wishes for a healthy baby.

Kate can still talk but preferred that her mother answer my questions. HD has already compromised her ability to communicate clearly, Tara said. “I’m kind of like her safety net,” she added.

Along with the rest of the HD community, I sincerely hope Kate’s child is HD-free.

“Both stories need to be told,” Tara said. “They bring up a lot that people don’t want to talk about.”

Rejecting rigid views

My support for both families may appear contradictory to some with rigid or black-and-white views, but, as I pointed out in the previous article, “the disabling, ultimately deadly nature of HD further complicates” decision-making. As my wife put it, “Nobody knows for sure until they’re actually faced with the decision.”

Indeed, all of our stories reveal the tragedy of HD and touch on larger controversies about abortion, suicide, and mercy killing.

One participant in the debate over the Wrights subsequently recalled on Facebook the case of Carol Carr, a Georgia woman who in 2002 shot dead two sons who had been confined to a nursing home with late-stage HD. She was convicted of assisted suicide and released on parole two years later. (You can view a documentary about the Carr case by clicking here.) The Facebook commentator seemed to become less rigid in her critical view of the Wrights.

Dead at 33

Living in a small town, Tara and her ex-husband Jeff Sandbulte had Kate when they were, respectively, just 18 and 16. Jeff had told her that his parents had died. In reality, Jeff’s father was already in a nursing home with HD, Tara said. He would eventually die in his forties.

Jeff also had juvenile HD. “We started dating,” Tara said. “I got pregnant with Katelyn. I didn’t know a whole lot about the disease. I had never even heard of it.”

Tara didn’t perceive Jeff’s symptoms at the time, but in hindsight she now understands that he clearly had HD. “Knowing what I (now) know about HD, yes, he did show signs, like lack of impulse control, losing weight, sleeping a lot, and loss of temper,” she said.

Jeff and Tara married in 1993, but the relationship became rocky, and she left him a year later. According to Tara, Jeff went to prison for a number of years and had virtually no contact with Kate and Mikey, the couple’s second child. Mikey, in fact, only saw his dad once. The couple officially divorced in 1996.

In 2000 Tara, a veterinary technician, remarried to Mike Hansen, a cement truck driver. They have three children together, six-year old Landon, five-year-old Shawn, who has Asperger’s syndrome, and four-year-old, Gabe, who was premature but is now thriving. Tara also suffered a miscarriage of twins in 2007.

Jeff died in 2006 at the age of 33. Other members of the extended family have also fallen victim to HD, including a deceased cousin of Kate whose symptoms started at 14 and another cousin, now 30, who resides in a nursing home.

Struggling with risk

More than Kate, Mikey grew up worrying about HD, because of his biological father’s situation. She showed more concern for him than for herself.

“She was very supportive of him as he was going through it,” Tara said. “Her deepest fear was that Mikey would have it. He was sure he had it because his biological father had it.”

Even Mikey’s doctors thought they saw signs of the disease. (Untested, at-risk people often act out symptoms, as do gene-positive, asymptomatic people like me.)

Perhaps because he saw his future compromised, Mikey hung out with people who were bad influences and letting his grades slip. After he became addicted to pain killers, Mikey had to enter a treatment program, Tara said.

An HD-free brother

HD testing centers usually advise against testing minors for HD because of the severe psychological impact of the potentially devastating information. However, in Mikey’s case, the family decided to test him in July 2009, when he was 16, because the prospect of HD had subjected him to enormous psychological pressures.

However, the medical profession has not fully grappled with the need to provide genetic testing information with sensitivity and competence. As I pointed out in the previous article, the Wrights received their baby’s test results in an unprofessional manner. Mikey suffered a similar fate.

A staffer from the doctor’s office called the family and asked for “Mike,” not identifying him by his last name. But it was not Mikey Sandbulte who answered the phone, but Mike Hansen. He was abruptly told his test results were “negative. If you have any questions, please call.” The staffer then hung up.

“They didn’t even make sure they had the right person on the line,” Tara said with indignation, noting that the proper procedure would have involved visiting the testing center and meeting with a geneticist and social worker so that the information – even happy information like a negative test – could be processed in person. The social worker became “irate” when she learned what happened, Tara added.

Luckily, Mikey was still at the drug rehab clinic. The family took his girlfriend Andrea to the clinic so that she could break the good news.

“He hit the ground on his knees and kept saying, ‘Oh, my God!’ He said, ‘I can’t believe it.’ It was like this big weight lifted off his shoulders. His whole demeanor changed – everything.”

Today, free of the spectre of HD, Mikey not only went through rehab successfully but has remained drug-free.

Kate’s onset

Like her brother, Kate also showed symptoms starting at the age of 15. In her case, she wasn’t acting out.

“That’s when her personality changed,” said Tara. “When she turned 16, she went through a terrible weight loss. She was at 130, and she went down to 98 pounds in a three-month period. We as parents are thinking, ‘She has an eating disorder.’ She would eat all the time.”

Her family also noticed periodic tremors in her hands.

HD patients typically lose weight, as did Kate. Scientists suspect the cause stems from energy shortages in the body’s cells caused by the defective huntingtin gene, as well as chorea, the constant shaking and dancelike movements most patients develop.

Kate (family photo)

Kate struggled in high school and ended up attending an alternative school. She had difficulty remembering things, too. “Hindsight is 20-20,” Tara recalled, “but at the time we thought Kate was just an airhead.”

“I look back now and I can remember struggling in school and being angry that I could not ‘get it,’” Kate wrote in her blog. “We had meetings with my teachers and I would tell everyone I was trying. I was sleeping a lot and skipping school. I was trying but for some reason it just would not stay with me. I know I was mad about that. I got mad at Mom and Dad for not understanding. Up to this point I had been an honor role student in all but math.”

Still the same person

Just a few months after Mikey’s genetic test, Kate and her family braced themselves for another test.

In October 2009, at the age of 18, Kate received her results, which confirmed the symptoms she had been showing and pointed to an ominous fate. Whereas a normal huntingtin gene has only ten to 29 CAG repeats, Kate’s has 57, a number that most surely will doom her to an early death like her father, grandfather, and other relatives.

However, Kate took the test result in stride.

“‘Hmm. Thanks.’ That is all she said,” Tara recalled. “She said, ‘It doesn’t change anything. I’m still the same person I was yesterday.’ She was working part-time at a local gas station. She went into work. She said that her test had come back positive. They said to take off and go home to be with her family.”

As for the family’s reaction, “we followed Kate’s philosophy,” Tara added.

Experiencing life

It wasn’t that easy, however. Two weeks after her test, Kate lost her job because of her difficulties with memory.

Despite the progression of the disease, Kate graduated from high school.

“She walked across the stage and got her diploma,” Tara said with pride.

After high school, the family helped Kate move into her own apartment so that, in Tara’s words, she could “experience life the best she could” before the symptoms worsened. To avoid the chance of an accident resulting from the loss of coordination typical in HD, Kate started driving less. Yet she still enjoyed being a “typical young adult,” spending time with friends.

Shawn (left), Gabe, and Kate (family photo)

Kate and her family then moved into another home equipped with features that would facilitate future caregiving needs, including a large bathroom and wheelchair accessibility.

With the help of Iowa’s Center of Excellence for Family Services and Research of the Huntington’s Disease Society of America (HDSA), the family obtained Social Security disability benefits for Kate. She now receives a monthly payment of $426. Medicare and Medicaid cover her medical bills.

Failed birth control

At a town celebration, Kate met a 29-year-old man named Billy. They started dating.

“The average person wouldn’t know that she’s disabled,” Tara said, explaining how it was natural for Kate to relate to men. “She has chorea and twitches, and she’s terribly forgetful. Other than that, she’s just a typical 20-year-old kid.”

To avoid pregnancy, Kate took Depo-Provera, a birth-control shot. She also took a low dose of a birth control pill in order to help reduce cramping and regulate her menstrual cycle.

Then both Kate and her mother took note of a missed period.

“I pulled into Walgreen’s and got a pregnancy test as a joke,” said Tara. “I didn’t think she was going to take it. She came out of the bathroom. She said, ‘It’s positive,’ and she started crying. I gave her a hug, and we just sat there.”

Kate’s baby is due on July 4, 2012.

‘In God’s hands’

Kate, Billy, and Tara met with a genetic counselor. Tara mainly stayed “in the background,” letting the young couple experience the happiness and worries of first-time parents, she said. The counselor informed them of the 50-50 chance that the baby would inherit the HD gene, but he did not advocate a course of action. The counselor said there was “no right or wrong answer,” Tara recounted.

Kate made a firm decision against both testing and an abortion.

“Even if she did test the baby, she wouldn’t terminate the pregnancy,” said Tara. “It was a struggle at first, after learning of the pregnancy. Once she saw the heartbeat, it was okay.”

Tara reviewed the options with her daughter, including abortion. “I don’t hide things from her,” Tara said. “I tell her that with juvenile HD, it could come on stronger and earlier in the baby.” Kate told her mother she was being “negative,” but Tara responded by emphasizing that she was simply laying out the facts.

“We just leave it in God’s hands,” she continued. “I can’t control HD. We all wish we could, but we can’t. In dealing with my little boy with autism (Asperger’s syndrome), people ask me if I knew, would I terminate my pregnancy. I say no.”

As for how the family will deal with so many potential caregiving burdens, Tara said that “we trust in God. The baby may not have HD. Shawn is high-function and our goal is for him to be a productive member of society. We will deal with the issues as they come up.”

Avoiding another pregnancy

After the baby is delivered, Kate and her family will take decisive action to avoid a future pregnancy.

“Kate is going to be sterilized,” Tara said, explaining that her daughter will undergo a tubal ligation, a procedure Tara also had after her last child’s birth. “She asked for this, and the doctor and I both support her choice – and even agree with it.”

Tara stressed that Kate initiated this plan and was not manipulated in any way. In fact, before Kate got pregnant, the mother and daughter had already discussed this possibility, although Kate declined at the time to have the procedure.

“It’s a choice that she’s making, because of the birth-control failure,” Tara explained. “She doesn’t want to go through the stress again of worrying about another baby."

I wanted to know if, in Tara’s opinion, sterilization violated God’s will in any way. She didn't think so. On this point she agreed with the Wrights, who believe that medical technology and procedures are “instruments” of God.

‘Preparing for war, praying for peace’

I wanted to explore more deeply the risk Kate is taking by not testing the baby. I asked Tara: wouldn’t a negative test put your minds at ease? And, without an abortion, wouldn’t a positive test help Kate and the family provide the best care possible for a diseased child or teenager?

“We did talk about this,” Tara responded. “Kate asked, ‘What would you do to prepare? What would the father do to prepare?’ He said: learn more about HD.”

Tara met with Billy and his mother to discuss the pregnancy and plans for raising the baby, especially because he and Kate will not marry.

“We as a family group need to be able to support that child,” Tara told me. “I said, ‘It doesn’t make a difference if it has HD or not.’ The end result of caring for the child and loving the child is going to be the same.”

In August, Tara obtained legal guardianship and conservatorship over Kate. These legal powers will also allow her to make decisions for the baby.

“In the end, I could force the issue if I wanted to, as her guardian,” said Tara. “But I’m going to respect her. Katelyn had 18 beautiful years without knowing (about HD). Life was what it was. Even now, she doesn’t think every day, ‘Oh, I have Huntington’s.’ That’s the way she wants her child to be raised.”

She summed up their strategy with these words: “We prepare for war, but we pray for peace. We prepare for the worst, but pray for the best.”

A plea for togetherness

After posting the news of Kate’s pregnancy, the family saw messages of support, but also what they termed “unkind remarks.”

For example, the Wrights criticized Kate for not testing the fetus and exploring their options.

Tara believed that the Wrights were “judging Kate.” According to her, they thought Kate was “selfish and hateful to carry a baby to term without getting it tested, that Kate had no right to give birth to a child that may or may not carry the HD gene.

“Kate was angered and hurt, as I was, from the post. When the other lady terminated her baby at 20 weeks, we supported her. We offered our prayers and love.”

When the Wrights received harsh criticism for their decision, Kate and her mother still stood by them. “I don’t agree with their choice but I ask our HD family to show the Wrights the same love you do to those of us who have a child or children living with JHD or HD,” the mother and daughter wrote.

Facing such extremely difficult situations, Tara told me, each family should make its own decision. She felt sad that “people showed anger and almost hatred toward somebody, especially when we’re fighting this horrible disease. The disease affects us all, and we should stick together.”

“In the end, it’s nobody’s business,” she said. “At the end of the day, it is up to the families, and each family has their own set of beliefs and morals. It is really up to the families to make the decisions for their loved ones, with or without society’s okay.

“I just want people to know: there are other options (other than testing and abortion). Do I understand where the Wrights come from? No. But I don’t judge them.”

A special gift from Landon

Kate, Tara, and the rest of the Hansen family are now turning their attention to welcoming a new member. Tara reports that Kate is doing well, although she consults with an obstetrician-gynecologist specializing in high-risk births.

“We’re planning on Kate doing what she can and us helping out where we can,” said Tara of the family’s post-birth plans.

They also hope to raise awareness about the need to cure HD in order to end the suffering endured by Kate, the Wrights, and the thousands of families afflicted by the disease.

Landon, the "Button Boy Fighting Juvenile Huntington's" (family photo)

Yesterday an early Christmas gift arrived at my home from six-year-old Landon. Landon makes HD bracelets and key chains. He sells them, as well as buttons promoting the HD movement. Last June, he even joined Kate and Tara at the annual HDSA convention in Minneapolis. Since then he’s raised $1,500 for the cause.

Tara told me that Landon is determined that his dollars “will find the cure.”

Landon sent my family a box with a couple bracelets, about a dozen buttons, family photos, and pamphlets and business cards for his work as the “Button Boy Fighting Juvenile Huntington’s Disease.” (You can contact Landon’s family at tanyon_24[at]yahoo.com. To donate, make checks payable to Landon Hansen and mail to 102 1st Avenue, Doon, IA 51235. All proceeds go to juvenile HD research at the University of Iowa.)

My daughter and I inspected the package’s contents.

“How old is he?” she asked incredulously.

“He’s six,” I responded.

She selected for herself a mini-button with the words “I Love Someone with Huntington’s Disease.”

“We have to spread the word,” Landon told his mother about his gift to us. “The more people understand, the better.”