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.
Why Aren’t Gene Editing Treatments Available Yet For People With Genetic Disorders? 
Lynn Julian Crisci, 40, is an actress, a singer-songwriter, and an ambassador for the U.S. Pain Foundation. She is also a Boston Marathon bombing survivor. Crisci has a genetic disorder called Ehlers-Danlos syndrome (EDS), which has magnified the impact of the traumatic brain injury she sustained as a result of the attack that occurred almost five years ago. Having EDS means that her brain tissue is weaker and more prone to injury.
"I would love to learn more about gene editing and the possibilities of using it to lessen the symptoms of EDS, or cure it completely."
"EDS is a genetic tissue disorder that forces the body to make defective collagen," Crisci told LeapsMag. Since collagen is the main component of connective tissue (bones, blood vessels, the gastrointestinal tract, skin, cartilage, etc.), and is the most abundant protein in mammals, EDS can affect virtually every part of the body. "This results in widespread joint pain, usually due to hypermobility, sometimes along with digestive issues such as inflammatory bowel disease, and prolapsed organs."
If life was difficult with Ehlers-Danlos syndrome alone, the addition of the brain injury has made Crisci's life feel unbearable at times. Amidst her week's back-to-back doctor's visits, Crisci said that she would "love to learn more about gene editing and the possibilities of using it to lessen the symptoms of Ehlers-Danlos syndrome, or cure it completely."
With all of the excitement these days around CRISPR, a precise and efficient way to edit DNA that has taken the world by storm, such treatments seem tantalizingly within reach. But is it fair to present the hope of such cures to those with life-limiting genetic disorders?
"From the experience that we've had from gene therapy — we're 20, almost 30 years past some of the initial gene therapy stuff — and there's still not a huge number of applications for it," said Scott Weissman, founder of Chicago Genetic Consultants, a company that provides genetic counseling services to patients. "Unfortunately, we have to wait and see if this is something that's truly viable, or if it's really just hype."
"I expect five years from now we'll look back and say, 'Wow, we were just scratching the surface.'"
Defining Our Terms
The terms "gene therapy" and "gene editing" are often used interchangeably, but not everyone agrees with this usage.
According to Editas Medicine, a leader in CRISPR technology, gene therapy involves the transfer of a new gene into a patient's cells to augment a defective gene, instead of using drugs or surgery to treat a condition. After a teenager's death in 1999 effectively shut down gene therapy research in the U.S., subsequent studies helped the field make a comeback, and the first such treatment for an inherited disease was approved by the FDA just a few weeks ago, for a rare form of vision loss. Called Luxturna, it is for treatment of patients with RPE65-mediated inherited retinal disease (IRD).
Since those with RPE65-mediated IRD typically become blind in childhood and have no pharmacologic treatment options, the FDA's approval of Luxturna is "a significant moment for patients," said Jeffrey Marrazzo, the chief executive officer of the company behind the product, Spark Therapeutics. Two other gene therapy treatments were also approved in the last five months, both for specific cancers.
Gene editing, on the other hand, refers to a group of technologies that enables scientists to precisely and directly change an organism's genes by adding, removing, or altering particular segments of DNA. Gene editing tools include Zinc Finger Nucleases (ZFNs), Transcription Activator-Like Effector Nucleases (TALENs), and CRISPR/Cas9. The first treatment using ZFNs happened in November in California, when a 44-year-old man with a metabolic ailment called Hunter syndrome was injected with gene editing tools. Results are not yet known.
Dr. David Valle, director of the Institute of Genetic Medicine at Johns Hopkins, said that gene therapy's "significant therapeutic misadventures" have actually been beneficial. They've helped us learn to "be rigorous in our thinking about what we can do and what we can't do with CRISPR" and other gene editing tools.
"It appears like we are really beginning to have, for the first time, some meaningful and good results from gene therapy — it's moving into the clinic now in a meaningful way," Valle said. "I expect five years from now we'll look back and say, 'Wow, we were just at this point in 2017 — we were just scratching the surface.'"
Over 2300 gene therapy clinical trials are planned, ongoing, or have been completed so far. As for gene editing, no treatments are commercially available anywhere in the world. The expectation, however, is that many treatments that are "currently in or soon to enter clinical trials will come up for approval in coming years," according to a November 2016 report by the American Society of Gene & Cell Therapy.
CRISPR Therapeutics of Cambridge, Massachusetts will begin a European gene editing trial this year, with the hopes of creating a treatment for beta thalassemia, an inherited blood disorder. The company will also request approval from the FDA to begin a clinical trial using CRISPR for sickle-cell disease. And Stanford University School of Medicine researchers are planning a similar CRISPR clinical trial for sickle-cell disease. They hope to begin their trial in 2019.
Jim Burns, the president and chief executive officer of Casebia Therapeutics, told Leapsmag that the company will start animal research this year using CRISPR to treat autoimmune diseases, hemophilia A, and retinal diseases. They expect to begin clinical research in humans in 2019 or 2020. [Disclosure: Casebia Therapeutics is a novel joint venture between CRISPR Therapeutics and Leapsmag's founder, Leaps by Bayer, though Leapsmag is editorially independent of Bayer.]
Efforts are well underway to take genome-targeted treatments from the scientist's bench to the patient's bedside.
The Technology Isn't There Yet
Unlike germline gene editing — when egg and sperm cell DNA is edited in an embryo — somatic cell gene editing in adults is not very controversial, because the edits are not heritable. Since somatic cells contribute to the various tissues of the body but not to eggs or sperm cells, changes made to somatic cells are limited to the treated individual.
The number one reason that gene therapy and gene editing treatments are not yet widely available to the adult population is that the technology is not advanced enough. But it's getting there. Efforts are well underway to take genome-targeted treatments from the scientist's bench to the patient's bedside — especially in the case of monogenic diseases.
Roughly 10,000 genetic illnesses are monogenic, meaning that they result from a disease-causing variant in a single gene. Some monogenic diseases that have gene editing treatments currently in development for use in clinical trials include cystic fibrosis, Huntington's disease, Tay-Sachs disease, and sickle cell anemia.
Marrazzo of Spark Therapeutics told LeapsMag that his company is working on gene therapies for monogenic diseases that affect the eye, like the retinal disease that Luxturna targets, as well as neurodegenerative and liver diseases.
But most illnesses are polygenic, meaning that they result from multiple gene mutations that have a combined influence on disease progression. Polygenic diseases, like high blood pressure and diabetes, would therefore be more challenging to treat with genome-targeted interventions. As a result, most research is currently focused on monogenic diseases.
"We don't really know how to target the gene editing to a specific organ in the body once it's fully developed and matured."
A major hurdle of gene editing is the risk of off-target effects. Editing the genome "can have unpredictable effects on gene expression and unintended effects on neighboring genes," wrote Morgan Maeder and Charles Gersbach in a March 2016 article in Molecular Therapy. One such unintended effect is the development of leukemia when a new gene unintentionally activates a cancer gene.
And since there are roughly 37 trillion cells in the adult human body, getting the gene editing machinery to enough cells or target tissues to create a lasting and significant change is a daunting task.
"We don't really know how to target the gene editing to a specific organ in the body once it's fully developed and matured," said Weissman, the genetic counseling expert. If you take an adult patient with known BRCA1 or BRCA2 mutations, for example, how do you then "get the [gene editing] system in the breast so that it accurately cuts out the mutation in every single breast cell that could potentially turn into breast cancer, or in every single ovarian cell that could turn into ovarian cancer? We don't know how to target it like that, and I think that's the biggest reason you're not seeing it more somatically at this point in time."
Approval and Access
Debra Mathews, assistant director for science programs for the Johns Hopkins Berman Institute of Bioethics, told LeapsMag that pre-existing regulatory frameworks surrounding gene therapy have been sufficient for addressing ethical and regulatory concerns surrounding gene editing. A bigger concern, she said, centers around access to future genome-targeted treatments.
"We know more about the genetics of Caucasian populations than other populations," Mathews explained, due to how genomic data is gathered. This "could lead to problems not just of financial but of biological access to new therapies." In other words, she said, "if you're of European ancestry, there may be a greater chance that there's a relevant genetically-targeted therapy for you than if you're of non-European ancestry."
Ensuring that genome-targeted treatments are accessible to all will require increased cooperation and data-sharing among key stakeholders around the world, as well as increased public engagement that is inclusive of a wide range of voices.
"It's important to be realistic in our predictions to the public."
The Coming Wave of Gene Editing Treatments
Ehlers-Danlos syndrome alone has 13 monogenic subtypes, each with its own genetic basis and set of clinical criteria. Though several of the gene mutations causing EDS subtypes have been identified, the genetic basis for the most common subtype that Lynn Julian Crisci has — hypermobile EDS — remains unknown. What this means, according to Valle, the doctor from Johns Hopkins, is that a gene therapy or gene editing approach "really cannot be contemplated because we don't know what we're trying to fix" yet. This is the case for many genetic illnesses.
Efforts are ongoing in gene discovery by organizations such as the Baylor-Hopkins Center for Mendelian Genomics, of which Valle is the principal investigator. "Our objective," he said, "is to identify the genes and variants responsible" in monogenic disorders.
While Valle is optimistic about the coming wave of commercially available gene therapy and gene editing treatments, he also thinks that "it's important to be realistic in our predictions to the public." As eager as physicians are to offer cures to their patients, "we have to make sure that we're rigorous in our thinking and our ideas are well-buttressed with results."
Estimates vary for how long Crisci and others with genetic illnesses will have to wait for genome-targeted treatment options. Depending on the illness, viable gene editing treatments could hit the market within the next ten years. Though patients have already waited a long while, the revolutionary technology allowing us to fix nature's mistakes could make up for lost time and lost hope.
A Drug Straight Out of Science Fiction Has Arrived
Steve, a 60-year-old resident of the DC area who works in manufacturing, was always physically fit. In college, he played lacrosse in Division I, the highest level of intercollegiate athletics in the United States. Later, he stayed active by swimming, biking, and running--up until something strange happened around two years ago.
"It was hard for me to even get upstairs. I wasted away."
Steve, who requested that his last name be withheld to protect his privacy, started to notice weakness first in his toes, then his knees. On a trip to the zoo, he had trouble keeping up. Then some months later, the same thing happened on a family hike. What was supposed to be a four-mile trek up to see a waterfall ended for him at the quarter-mile mark. He turned around and struggled back to the start just as everyone else was returning from the excursion.
Alarmed, he sought out one doctor after the next, but none could diagnose him. The disabling weakness continued to creep up his legs, and by the time he got in to see a top neurologist at Johns Hopkins University last January, he was desperate for help.
"It was hard for me to even get upstairs," he recalls. "I wasted away and had lost about forty-five pounds."
The neurologist, Dr. Michael Polydefkis, finally made the correct diagnosis based on Steve's rapid progression of symptoms, a skin and nerve biopsy, and a genetic test. It turned out that Steve had a rare inherited disease called hereditary transthyretin amyloidosis. Transthyretin is a common blood protein whose normal function is to transport vitamins and hormones in the body. When patients possess certain genetic mutations in the transthyretin gene, the resulting protein can misfold, clump and produce amyloid, an aggregate of proteins, which then interferes with normal function. Many organs are affected in this disease, but most affected are the nervous system, the GI tract, and the heart.
Dr. Michael Polydefkis, Steve's neurologist at Johns Hopkins Bayview Medical Center in Baltimore, MD.
(Courtesy of Dr. Polydefkis)
For the 50,000 patients like Steve around the world, the only treatment historically has been a liver transplant—a major, risky operation. The liver makes most of the transthyretin in a person's body. So if a person who carries a genetic mutation for a disease-causing form of transthyretin has their liver transplanted, the new liver will stop making the mutant protein. A few drugs can slow, but do not stop the disease.
Since it is a genetic condition, a regular "drug" can't tackle the problem.
"For almost all of medicine from the 18th century to today, drugs have been small molecules, typically natural, some invented by humans, that bind to proteins and block their functions," explains Dr. Phillip Zamore, chair of the department of Biomedical Sciences at the University of Massachusetts Medical School. "But with most proteins (including this one), you can't imagine how that would ever happen. Because even if it stuck, there's no reason to think it would change anything. So people threw up their hands and said, 'Unless we can find a protein that is "druggable" in disease X, we can't treat it.'"
To draw a car analogy, treating a disease like Steve's with a small molecule would be like trying to shut down the entire car industry when all you can do is cut the power cord to one machine in one local factory. With few options, patients like Steve have been at a loss, facing continual deterioration and disability.
"It's more obvious how to be specific because we use the genetic code itself to design the drug."
A Radical New Approach
Luckily, Dr. Polydefkis knew of an experimental drug made by a biotech company that Dr. Zamore co-founded called Alnylam Pharmaceuticals. They were doing something completely different: silencing the chemical blueprint for protein, called RNA, rather than targeting the protein itself. In other words, shutting down all the bad factories across the whole car industry at once – without touching the good ones.
"It's more obvious how to be specific," says Dr. Zamore, "because we use the genetic code itself to design the drug."
For Steve's doctor, the new drug, called patisiran, is a game changer.
"It's the dawn of molecular medicine," says Dr. Polydefkis. "It's really a miraculous development. The ability to selectively knock down or reduce the amount of a specific protein is remarkable. I tell patients this is science fiction that is now becoming reality."
A (Very) Short History
The strategy of silencing RNA as a method of guiding drug development began in 1998. Basic research took six years before clinical testing in humans began in 2004. Just a few months ago, in November, the results of the first double-blind, placebo-controlled phase III trials were announced, testing patisiran in patients--and they surpassed expectations.
"The results were remarkably positive," says Dr. Polydefkis. "Every primary and secondary outcome measure target was met. It's the most positive trial I have ever been associated with and that I can remember in recent memory."
FDA approval is expected to come by summer, which will mark the first official sanction of a drug based on RNA inhibition (RNAi). Experts are confident that similar drugs will eventually follow for other diseases, like familial hypercholesterol, lipid disorders, and breathing disorders. Right now, these drugs must get into the liver to work, but otherwise the future treatment possibilities are wide open, according to Dr. Zamore.
"It doesn't have to be a genetic disease," he says. "In theory, it doesn't have to be just one gene, although I don't think anyone knows how many you could target at once. There is no precedent for targeting two."
Dr. Phillip Zamore, chair of the RNA Therapeutics Institute at the University of Massachusetts Medical School.
(Courtesy of Dr. Zamore)
Alnylam, the leading company in RNAi therapeutics, plans to strategically design other new drugs based on what they have learned from this first trial – "so with each successive experience, with designing and testing, you get better at making more drugs. In a way, that's never happened before...This is a lot more efficient of a way to make drugs in the future."
And unlike gene therapy, in which a patient's own genetic code is permanently altered, this approach does not cause permanent genetic changes. Patients can stop taking it like any other drug, and its effects will vanish.
How Is Steve?
Last February, Steve started on the drug. He was granted early access since it is not yet FDA-approved and is still considered experimental. Every 21 days, he has received an IV infusion that causes some minor side effects, like headaches and facial flushing.
"The good news is, since I started on the drug, I don't see any more deterioration other than my speech."
So far, it seems to be effective. He's gained back 20 pounds, and though his enunciation is still a bit slurred, he says that his neuropathy has stopped. He plans to continue the treatment for the rest of his life.
"The good news is, since I started on the drug, I don't see any more deterioration other than my speech," he says. "I think the drug is working, but would I have continued to deteriorate without the drug? I'm not really sure."
Dr. Polydefkis jumps in with a more confident response: "If you ask me, I would say 100 percent he would have kept progressing at a fairly rapid pace without the drug. When Steve says the neuropathy has stopped, that's music to my ears."
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.