SCOOP: Largest Cryobank in the U.S. to Offer Ancestry Testing
Sharon Kochlany and Vanessa Colimorio's four-year-old twin girls had a classic school assignment recently: make a family tree. They drew themselves and their one-year-old brother branching off from their moms, with aunts, uncles, and grandparents forking off to the sides.
The recently-gained sovereignty of queer families stands to be lost if a consumer DNA test brings a stranger's identity out of the woodwork.
What you don't see in the invisible space between Kochlany and Colimorio, however, is the sperm donor they used to conceive all three children.
To look at a family tree like this is to see in its purest form that kinship can supersede biology—the boundaries of where this family starts and stops are clear to everyone in it, in spite of a third party's genetic involvement. This kind of self-definition has always been synonymous with LGBTQ families, especially those that rely on donor gametes (sperm or eggs) to exist.
But the world around them has changed quite suddenly: The recent consumer DNA testing boom has made it more complicated than ever for families built through reproductive technology—openly, not secretively—to maintain the strong sense of autonomy and privacy that can be crucial for their emotional security. Prospective parents and cryobanks are now mulling how best to bring a new generation of donor-conceived people into this world in a way that leaves open the choice to know more about their ancestry without obliterating an equally important choice: the right not to know about biological relatives.
For queer parents who have long fought for social acceptance, having a biological relationship to their children has been revolutionary, and using an unknown donor as a means to this end especially so. Getting help from a friend often comes with the expectation that the friend will also have social involvement in the family, which some people are comfortable with, but being able to access sperm from an unknown donor—which queer parents have only been able to openly do since the early 1980s—grants them the reproductive autonomy to create families seemingly on their own. That recently-gained sovereignty stands to be lost if a consumer DNA test brings a stranger's identity out of the woodwork.
At the same time, it's natural for donor-conceived people to want to know more about where they come from ethnically, even if they don't want to know the identity of their donor. As a donor-conceived person myself, I know my donor's self-reported ethnicity, but have often wondered how accurate it is.
Opening the Pandora's box of a consumer DNA test as a way to find out has always felt profoundly unappealing to me, however. Many people have accidentally learned they're donor-conceived by unwittingly using these tools, but I already know that about myself going in, and subsequently know I'll be connected to a large web of people whose existence I'm not interested in learning about. In addition to possibly identifying my anonymous donor, his family could also show up, along with any donor-siblings—other people with whom I share a donor. My single lesbian mom is enough for me, and the trade off to learn more about my ethnic ancestry has never seemed worth it.
In 1992, when I was born, no one was planning for how consumer DNA tests might upend or illuminate one's sense of self. But the donor community has always had to stay nimble with balancing privacy concerns and psychological well-being, so it should come as no surprise that figuring out how to do so in 2020 includes finding a way to offer ancestry insight while circumventing consumer DNA tests.
A New Paradigm
This is the rationale behind unprecedented industry news that LeapsMag can exclusively break: Within the next few weeks, California Cryobank, the largest cryobank in the country, will begin offering genetically-verified ancestry information on the free public part of every donor's anonymous profile in its database, something no other cryobanks yet offer (an exact launch date was not available at the time of publication). Currently, California Cryobank's donor profiles include a short self-reported list that might merely say, "Ancestry: German, Lebanese, Scottish."
The new information will be a report in pie chart form that details exactly what percentages of a donor's DNA come from up to 26 ethnicities—it's analogous to, but on a smaller scale than, the format offered by consumer DNA testing companies, and uses the same base technology that looks for single nucleotide polymorphisms in DNA that are associated with specific ethnicities. But crucially, because the donor takes the DNA test through California Cryobank, not a consumer-facing service, the information is not connected in a network to anyone else's DNA test. It's also taken before any offspring exist so there's no chance of revealing a donor-conceived person's identity this way.
Later, when a donor-conceived person is born, grows up, and wants information about their ethnicity from the donor side, all they need is their donor's anonymous ID number to look it up. The donor-conceived person never takes a genetic test, and therefore also can't accidentally find donor siblings this way. People who want to be connected to donor siblings can use a sibling registry where other people who want to be found share donor ID numbers and look for matches (this is something that's been available for decades, and remains so).
"With genetic testing, you have no control over who reaches out to you, and at what point in your life."
California Cryobank will require all new donors to consent to this extra level of genetic testing, setting a new standard for what information prospective parents and donor-conceived people can expect to have. In the immediate, this information will be most useful for prospective parents looking for donors with specific backgrounds, possibly ones similar to their own.
It's a solution that was actually hiding in plain sight. Two years ago, California Cryobank's partner Sema4, the company handling the genetic carrier testing that's used to screen for heritable diseases, started analyzing ethnic data in its samples. That extra information was being collected because it can help calculate a more accurate assessment of genetic risks that run in certain populations—like Ashkenazi Jews and Tay Sachs disease—than relying on oral family histories. Shortly after a plan to start collecting these extra data, Jamie Shamonki, chief medical officer of California Cryobank, realized the companies would be sitting on a goldmine for a different reason.
"I didn't want to use one of these genetic testing companies like Ancestry to accomplish this," says Shamonki. "The whole thing we're trying to accomplish is also privacy."
Consumer-facing DNA testing companies are not HIPAA compliant (whereas Sema4, which isn't direct-to-consumer, is HIPAA compliant), which means there are no legal privacy protections covering people who add their DNA to these databases. Although some companies, like 23andMe, allow users to opt-out of being connected with genetic relatives, the language can be confusing to navigate, requires a high level of knowledge and self-advocacy on the user's part, and, as an opt-out system, is not set up to protect the user from unwanted information by default; many unwittingly walk right into such information as a result.
Additionally, because consumer-facing DNA testing companies operate outside the legal purview that applies to other health care entities, like hospitals, even a person who does opt-out of being linked to genetic relatives is not protected in perpetuity from being re-identified in the future by a change in company policy. The safest option for people with privacy concerns is to stay out of these databases altogether.
For California Cryobank, the new information about donor heritage won't retroactively be added to older profiles in the system, so donor-conceived people who already exist won't benefit from the ancestry tool, but it'll be the new standard going forward. The company has about 500 available donors right now, many of which have been in their registry for a while; about 100 of those donors, all new, will have this ancestry data on their profiles.
Shamonki says it has taken about two years to get to the point of publicly including ancestry information on a donor's profile because it takes about nine months of medical and psychological screening for a donor to go from walking through the door to being added to their registry. The company wanted to wait to launch until it could offer this information for a significant number of donors. As more new donors come online under the new protocol, the number with ancestry information on their profiles will go up.
For Parents: An Unexpected Complication
While this change will no doubt be welcome progress for LGBTQ families contemplating parenthood, it'll never be possible to put this entire new order back in the box. What are such families who already have donor-conceived children losing in today's world of widespread consumer genetic testing?
Kochlany and Colimorio's twins aren't themselves much older than the moment at-home DNA testing really started to take off. They were born in 2015, and two years later the industry saw its most significant spike. By now, more than 26 million people's DNA is in databases like 23andMe and Ancestry; as a result, it's estimated that within a year, 90 percent of Americans of European descent will be identifiable through these consumer databases, by way of genetic third cousins, even if they didn't want to be found and never took the test themselves. This was the principle behind solving the Golden State Killer cold case.
The waning of privacy through consumer DNA testing fundamentally clashes with the priorities of the cyrobank industry, which has long sought to protect the privacy of donor-conceived people, even as open identification became standard. Since the 1980s, donors have been able to allow their identity to be released to any offspring who is at least 18 and wants the information. Lesbian moms pushed for this option early on so their children—who would obviously know they couldn't possibly be the biological product of both parents—would never feel cut off from the chance to know more about themselves. But importantly, the openness is not a two-way street: the donors can't ever ask for the identities of their offspring. It's the latter that consumer DNA testing really puts at stake.
"23andMe basically created the possibility that there will be donors who will have contact with their donor-conceived children, and that's not something that I think the donor community is comfortable with," says I. Glenn Cohen, director of Harvard Law School's Center for Health Law Policy, Biotechnology & Bioethics. "That's about the donor's autonomy, not the rearing parents' autonomy, or the donor-conceived child's autonomy."
Kochlany and Colimorio have an open identification donor and fully support their children reaching out to California Cryobank to get more information about him if they want to when they're 18, but having a singular name revealed isn't the same thing as having contact, nor is it the same thing as revealing a web of dozens of extended genetic relations. Their concern now is that if their kids participate in genetic testing, a stranger—someone they're careful to refer to as only "the donor" and never "dad"—will reach out to the children to begin some kind of relationship. They know other people who are contemplating giving their children DNA tests, and feel staunchly that it wouldn't be right for their family.
"With genetic testing, you have no control over who reaches out to you, and at what point in your life," Kochlany says. "[People] reaching out and trying to say, 'Hey I know who your dad is' throws a curveball. It's like, 'Wait, I never thought I had a dad.' It might put insecurities in their minds."
"We want them to have the opportunity to choose whether or not they want to reach out," Colimorio adds.
Kochlany says that when their twins are old enough to start asking questions, she and Colimorio plan to frame it like this: "The donor was kind of like a technology that helped us make you a person, and make sure that you exist," she says, role playing a conversation with their kids. "But it's not necessarily that you're looking to this person [for] support or love, or because you're missing a piece."
It's a line in the sand that's present even for couples still far off from conceiving. When Mallory Schwartz, a film and TV producer in Los Angeles, and Lauren Pietra, a marriage and family therapy associate (and Shamonki's step-daughter), talk about getting married someday, it's a package deal with talking about how they'll approach having kids. They feel there are too many variables and choices to make around family planning as a same-sex couple these days to not have those conversations simultaneously. Consumer DNA databases are already on their minds.
"It frustrates me that the DNA databases are just totally unregulated," says Schwartz. "I hope they are by the time we do this. I think everyone deserves a right to privacy when making your family [using a sperm donor]."
"I wouldn't want to create a world where people who are donor-conceived feel like they can't participate in this technology because they're trying to shut out [other] information."
On the prospect of having a donor relation pop up non-consensually for a future child, Pietra says, "I don't like it. It would be really disappointing if the child didn't want [contact], and unfortunately they're on the receiving end."
You can see how important preserving the right to keep this door closed is when you look at what's going on at The Sperm Bank of California. This pioneering cryobank was the first in the world to openly serve LGBTQ people and single women, and also the first to offer the open identification option when it opened in 1982, but not as many people are asking for their donor's identity as expected.
"We're finding a third of young people are coming forward for their donor's identity," says Alice Ruby, executive director. "We thought it would be a higher number." Viewed the other way, two-thirds of the donor-conceived people who could ethically get their donor's identity through The Sperm Bank of California are not asking the cryobank for it.
Ruby says that part of what historically made an open identification program appealing, rather than invasive or nerve-wracking, is how rigidly it's always been formatted around mutual consent, and protects against surprises for all parties. Those [donor-conceived people] who wanted more information were never barred from it, while those who wanted to remain in the dark could. No one group's wish eclipsed the other's. The potential breakdown of a system built around consent, expectations, and respect for privacy is why unregulated consumer DNA testing is most concerning to her as a path for connecting with genetic relatives.
For the last few decades in cryobanks around the world, the largest cohort of people seeking out donor sperm has been lesbian couples, followed by single women. For infertile heterosexual couples, the smallest client demographic, Ruby says donor sperm offers a solution to a medical problem, but in contrast, it historically "provided the ability for [lesbian] couples and single moms to have some reproductive autonomy." Yes, it was still a solution to a biological problem, but it was also a solution to a social one.
The Sperm Bank of California updated its registration forms to include language urging parents, donor-conceived people, and donors not to use consumer DNA tests, and to go through the cryobank if they, understandably, want to learn more about who they're connected to. But truthfully, there's not much else cryobanks can do to protect clients on any side of the donor transaction from surprise contact right now—especially not from relatives of the donor who may not even know someone in their family has donated sperm.
A Tricky Position
Personally, I've known I was donor-conceived from day one. It has never been a source of confusion, angst, or curiosity, and in fact has never loomed particularly large for me in any way. I see it merely as a type of reproductive technology—on par with in vitro fertilization—that enabled me to exist, and, now that I do exist, is irrelevant. Being confronted with my donor's identity or any donor siblings would make this fact of my conception bigger than I need it to be, as an adult with a full-blown identity derived from all of my other life experiences. But I still wonder about the minutiae of my ethnicity in much the same way as anyone else who wonders, and feel there's no safe way for me to find out without relinquishing some of my existential independence.
The author and her mom in spring of 1998.
"People obviously want to participate in 23andMe and Ancestry because they're interested in knowing more about themselves," says Shamonki. "I wouldn't want to create a world where people who are donor-conceived feel like they can't participate in this technology because they're trying to shut out [other] information."
After all, it was the allure of that exact conceit—knowing more about oneself—that seemed to magnetically draw in millions of people to these tools in the first place. It's an experience that clearly taps into a population-wide psychic need, even—perhaps especially—if one's origins are a mystery.
The Mind-Blowing Promise of Neural Implants
You may not have heard of DARPA, the research branch of the Pentagon. But you're definitely familiar with some of the technology it has pioneered, like the Internet, Siri, and handheld GPS.
"Now we're going to try to go from this proof-of-concept all the way to commercial technologies that can powerfully affect patients' lives."
Last week in National Harbor, Maryland, DARPA celebrated its 60th anniversary by showcasing its latest breakthroughs and emerging research programs, one of which centers around using neurotechnology to enhance the capabilities of the human brain. This technology is initially being developed to help warfighters and veterans, but its success could have enormous implications for civilian patients and, eventually, mainstream consumers.
The field is moving ahead rapidly. Fifteen years ago, a monkey named Aurora used a brain-machine interface to control a cursor on a computer screen. In 2014, DARPA's mind-controlled prosthetic arm for amputees won approval from the Food and Drug Administration.
Since then, DARPA has continued to push neurotechnology to new heights. Here are three of their research programs that are showing promise in early human testing:
1) A NEURAL IMPLANT HELP MANAGE PSYCHIATRIC ILLNESS
More than 2.2 million veterans and 44 million civilians are living with some form of psychiatric illness, and medications don't work for everyone. DARPA set out to create new options for people living with debilitating anxiety, depression, and PTSD.
"We can get somebody back to normal. It's a whole new set of tools for physicians," said Justin Sanchez, Director of the Biological Technologies Office at DARPA.
He told the audience about a woman living with both epilepsy and extreme anxiety, who has a direct neural interface that reads her brain's signals in real time and can be modulated with stimulation. He shared a recent video of her testing the device:
"Now we're going to try to go from this proof-of-concept all the way to commercial technologies that can powerfully affect patients' lives," Sanchez said.
2) A NEURAL IMPLANT TO HELP IMPROVE MEMORY
"We are right at the cusp" of improving memory recall with direct neural interfaces, Sanchez said.
All day long, our brains shift between poor and good memory states. A brain-computer interface can read the signals of populations of neurons in the lateral temporal cortex. The device continuously monitors the state of the brain and delivers stimulation within a fraction of a second after detecting a poor memory state, to improve the person's memory performance.
The improved memory lasts only seconds, so the system "delivers stimulation as needed in a closed loop to keep the performance in a good state, because of this natural variability of performance," said Dan Rizzuto, founder of NiaTherapeutics, whose technology was developed with support from DARPA and the United States BRAIN Initiative.
Check out this recently shot video of a patient testing the device, which Sanchez called "a breakthrough moment":
About 400 patients have been tested with this technology so far. In a pilot study whose data have not yet been published, patients with traumatic brain injury showed improvement in recall of around 28 percent, according to Rizzuto.
He estimates that potential FDA approval of the device for patients with traumatic brain injury is still 7 to 8 years away. The technology holds the potential to help many other kinds of patients as well.
"We believe this device could also be used to treat Alzheimer's because it's not specific to any brain pathology but based on a deep understanding of the way human memory works," Rizzuto said.
3) A NEURAL IMPLANT TO REVOLUTIONIZE PROSTHETICS FOR WARFIGHTERS AND VETERANS
Since 2006, DARPA has run a program to revolutionize prosthetics. The latest advances allow amputees to actually feel again with their bionic limbs.
Sensors in a prosthetic hand relay information to an interface in the brain that allows the person to detect which of their "fingers" are being touched, while their eyes are closed:
WHAT COMES NEXT?
DARPA is now turning its attention to non-surgical, non-invasive neurotechnology. Researchers hope to use advanced sensor technology to detect signals from neurons without putting any electrodes directly inside the brain. Under the direction of program manager Dr. Al Emondi, the N³ program is about to launch soon and plans to run for four or five years.
"We haven't even scratched the surface of what a human brain's capability is," said Dr. Geoffrey Ling, the Founding Director of the Biological Technologies Office. "When we can make this a non-invasive consumer technology, this will explode. It will take on a life of its own."
Then, inevitably, the hard questions will follow.
As Sanchez put it: "Will society consider some form of neural enhancement a personal choice like braces? Could there be a disturbing gap for people who have neurotech and those who don't? We must come together and all think over the horizon. How the story unfolds ultimately depends on all of us."
Kira Peikoff was the editor-in-chief of Leaps.org from 2017 to 2021. As a journalist, her work has appeared in The New York Times, Newsweek, Nautilus, Popular Mechanics, The New York Academy of Sciences, and other outlets. She is also the author of four suspense novels that explore controversial issues arising from scientific innovation: Living Proof, No Time to Die, Die Again Tomorrow, and Mother Knows Best. Peikoff holds a B.A. in Journalism from New York University and an M.S. in Bioethics from Columbia University. She lives in New Jersey with her husband and two young sons. Follow her on Twitter @KiraPeikoff.
Prostate Cancer Treatments Are Racing Ahead. Here’s a Big Reason Why.
In his lab at UCLA, Dr. Charles Sawyer discovered two drugs for metastatic prostate cancer that are now in routine use all over the world.
At the University of Washington at Seattle, Dr. Heather Cheng was part of a team that discovered the connection between BRCA2 mutations and advanced prostate cancer, and she recently opened a prostate cancer genetics clinic – a new frontier in the field.
At UT Southwestern Medical Center in Dallas, Dr. Nima Sharifi's pioneering research showed why certain drugs don't work in castrate-resistant prostate cancer, and now new therapies are being developed instead.
"We have good reason to believe that investing in young scientists is the way to go."
What Do These Researchers Share in Common?
They were all under 40 when they received a special grant for early-career scientists from the Prostate Cancer Foundation, the leading philanthropic organization that funds prostate cancer research. Experts say that the foundation's dedicated support for young innovators has been a game changer in contributing to the discovery of newer and better therapies for prostate cancer patients.
Howard Soule, the foundation's Executive Vice President and Chief Science Officer, was aware that many of the people who leave behind major legacies in science typically make their discoveries before age 40, like Albert Einstein, who was in his thirties when he published his paper on general relativity.
So back in 2007, the PCF decided to ramp up its support for young researchers.
"We have good reason to believe that investing in young scientists is the way to go, so we've created a program at PCF that is I believe is unique in the field," says Soule.
The Young Investigator Awards Program rigorously screens a pool of roughly 150 applicants for 20 to 25 awards that consist of funding for three years – and that's just the start.
"It's much more than sending them money," says Soule. "We celebrate them at annual meetings, we have a networking center with no equal in the field, and throughout the years of their three-year-award and basically forever, we create community. We are a safe place for them to land, they share data with us that's unpublished, and we provide a lot of feedback and stewardship to their donors."
Spotlighting Recipients: From the Study of Tumors to Twitter
Heather Cheng was in her thirties when she received her award three years ago. "It's been very, very helpful in allowing me to do the type of work I am really excited about doing," she says.
At the time, she had recently joined the faculty at the University of Washington after completing an MD/PhD medical scientist training program, internal medicine residency and hematology/oncology fellowship, and she was considering what new direction to take in her research. Several patients captured her imagination who were diagnosed at a very young age with metastatic prostate cancer, and "even though we had cool new drugs to extend life, these particular patients' cancers blew through everything."
"This is a new intersection because genetics has not been discussed in the context of care for men with prostate cancer that much."
She decided to make a niche out of understanding the connection between often early-onset aggressive prostate cancer and familial genetic risk, in order to improve treatment options for these patients. In 2016, Cheng launched a new clinic and invited any men to visit who have a family history of cancer and who are interested in genetic testing, or who have a known mutation and want to learn about treatment opportunities, or who want to know if their cancer tumor can be inherited.
"It's an open door to have a discussion because the technology and treatment potentials are so new," Cheng says. "There's a lot to learn."
It used to be that a doctor would ask a male patient about his family history, and if a mother had breast cancer at a young age, for example, and several other family members met the criteria for a genetic risk, then perhaps the patient had inherited a mutation in a cancer risk gene. But what to do next was unclear.
Now, doctors are taking men with a diagnosis of prostate cancer, sequencing their inherited DNA or their tumors, and finding out if they have mutations that could guide their treatment plan. For example, medications called PARP inhibitors have shown encouraging early results for men with a BRCA2 gene mutation and are now in clinical trials for treating prostate cancer.
"This is a new intersection because genetics has not been discussed in the context of care for men with prostate cancer that much," Cheng says. "This has changed practice because changes to national cancer guidelines have happened in less than five years. The change has happened so quickly that the field is not completely prepared for implementation and clinical logistics."
Another young investigator, New York University urologist and prostate cancer researcher Stacy Loeb, received her award at age 36 two years ago. She realized that no one had scientifically studied how patients are using crowdsourcing platforms like GoFundMe and YouCaring to raise money for their treatments. In her research, she found that there are many more campaigns for breast cancer and that they are more successful in crowdfunding than the prostate cancer campaigns.
"We have identified some gaps in advocacy and awareness for prostate cancer – fewer people know about it or discuss it, but it is a leading cause of death of U.S. men, so it is important to get more people aware," Loeb notes.
In fact, today the PCF releases data from a survey of more than 2,000 U.S. adults that reveals widespread ignorance about the disease. Two-thirds of respondents, for example, did not know that men with early stage prostate cancer experience no symptoms, and many were unaware that screening begins with a simple blood test.
Besides studying patient behavior, Loeb also wanted to better understand how physicians and scientists are using social media, and how their participation on platforms like Twitter could be fostered to promote greater dissemination of knowledge. So she helped start a monthly prostate cancer journal club on Twitter, hosted through the PCF science account. The club features an important new research paper in the field each month, and she invites the authors of the paper to participate in a 48-hour online discussion.
"The Journal Club is a monthly thing at most institutions," she says, "but typically it's one institution with people from one department. What's better about this is we have people who are doctors, nurses, scientists, patients, stakeholders participating from all over the world."
Why Do Young Innovators Have an Edge?
The environment matters, for one.
"We all bring different life experiences to the table, we grew up in different eras, so we have different norms and tools at our disposal that weren't available," says Loeb, who was one of the early adopters of social media in the urology space. She now gives a lecture at the annual PCF retreat on how to use social media to advance one's scientific career.
"The more you're invested into a system, the less you may be able to recognize its limitations."
But the advantage of youth is not just greater familiarity with the newest tools. It's also the existential benefit of not being entrenched in the way it's always been.
"Often there is a healthy skepticism of what's come before," explains Dr. Joseph La Brie, a clinical psychologist and professor at psychology at Loyola Marymount University. "That's connected to not being wedded to a programmatic view of the problem. There's a freshness and creative outlook because they are looking at it with a new set of eyes, and there's a desire to make their mark on the field, to be unique and innovative and not just follow in somebody else's footsteps."
And as Cheng puts it, "The more you're invested into a system, the less you may be able to recognize its limitations."
But it's notoriously difficult for scientists to get funding for innovative ideas without having already published preliminary data, which is what the National Institutes of Health and other funding bodies like to see. Eliminating that hurdle is a big part of why PCF's approach has been so effective, according to a veteran of the field, Johns Hopkins urologist Dr. Kenneth Pienta; his own groundbreaking research has been supported by PCF since he was a young scientist in the '90s.
"Any granting mechanism that allows people to fund ideas without a lot of preliminary data is a good thing," he declares.
Support for creative young minds is crucial across all endeavors, beyond any single disease or discipline. At a recent conference showcasing emerging technology for DARPA, the research arm of the Defense Department, expert panelists in artificial intelligence were asked: What is the single most important thing to focus on over the next decade?
Robotics pioneer Dr. Rodney Brooks may have put it best: "Figure out how to fund some really radical young mavericks and see what happens."
Kira Peikoff was the editor-in-chief of Leaps.org from 2017 to 2021. As a journalist, her work has appeared in The New York Times, Newsweek, Nautilus, Popular Mechanics, The New York Academy of Sciences, and other outlets. She is also the author of four suspense novels that explore controversial issues arising from scientific innovation: Living Proof, No Time to Die, Die Again Tomorrow, and Mother Knows Best. Peikoff holds a B.A. in Journalism from New York University and an M.S. in Bioethics from Columbia University. She lives in New Jersey with her husband and two young sons. Follow her on Twitter @KiraPeikoff.