In the article, victims of the disease wish that there were more clinical trials to test more possible cures. If the price of clinical trials were lower, more of them would be supplied. One way to reduce the price would be for the F.D.A. to only mandate testing for safety, not to mandate testing for efficacy. After all, it was concerns over the safety, not the efficacy, of thalidomide, that first accelerated the F.D.A.’s clinical trial mandates. Testing only for safety (Phase 1 and Phase 2 clinical trials), would hugely reduce the price, resulting ultimately in more and quicker cures.
(p. A1) Linde Jacobs paced back and forth across her bedroom, eyeing the open laptop on the dresser and willing the doctor to appear. Her husband was dropping off their older daughter at school. Their younger daughter was downstairs, occupied by a screen. Linde wanted to be alone when she learned whether she carried the family curse.
Linde’s mother, Allison, had died just four weeks before, after a mutant gene gradually laid waste to her brain. In her 50s, Allison transformed from a joyful family ringleader into an impulsive, deceptive pariah. She drove like a maniac on cul-de-sacs. She pinched strangers, shoplifted craft supplies and stole money from her daughter.
Now, on this morning in September 2021, Linde would find out if she had inherited the same vile genetic mutation.
. . .
The doctor finally popped up on the computer. Wasting no time on pleasantries, she shared her screen and zoomed in on one line of laboratory paperwork: POSITIVE.
. . .
Soon, Linde’s husband, Taylor, pulled into the garage and opened the car door. He could hear her sobbing.
. . .
Linde looked at Taylor. “I don’t want you to feel stuck with me,” she said.
(p. A12) Leaving had never crossed his mind. Allison’s miserable experience, he told Linde, did not have to be hers. “You have all this time,” he said. “Do something about it.”
Even as they spoke, scientists were working on projects that might one day help her. Some had discovered how to cure grave conditions with gene editing. Others were tinkering with patients’ skin cells to test experimental drugs. And pharmaceutical companies were developing new Alzheimer’s therapies, one of which happened to target the rare defect in Linde’s brain.
Linde didn’t know any of that yet. But she decided to take Taylor’s advice. She would use the time she had, somehow, to find influential scientists and make them care about what was happening to her — and what might happen to her girls.
Linde and Taylor scoured the internet for any scrap of hope about treating frontotemporal dementia, or FTD. There was little to read.
Taylor remembered a Netflix documentary about a new way to edit genes. The method, called CRISPR, had cured some children with sickle cell disease. He searched “FTD treatment CRISPR” and found the website of Dr. Claire Clelland, a neurologist at the University of California, San Francisco. She had collected skin cells from patients with FTD, reprogrammed them into neurons and tried to edit the faulty genetic code within.
The website listed a phone number. Taylor called and left a message — a Hail Mary, he figured.
Within a day, Dr. Clelland responded by email. “Happy to help if I can,” she wrote.
. . .
(p. A13) “Could I ask a question?” one young scientist said. How much risk, she wondered, was Linde comfortable taking on an experimental treatment? Editing genes with CRISPR was new, after all, and could come with serious side effects.
“Sign me up, patient zero, sounds good,” Linde said.
“What choice do I have,” she added, “if I don’t want the same future for myself as my mom had, and her mom?”
When she wasn’t working or coaching her daughter’s soccer team, Linde threw herself into the scientific research on MAPT — a niche but growing subfield. The gene provides the instructions for cells to make tau, a protein in the brain.
One day she came across news of a project investigating how tau can go awry. She wrote to the scientist leading the work, Dr. Kenneth Kosik of the University of California, Santa Barbara, describing her family and asking to talk.
Dr. Kosik was sitting in his home office when her note landed in his inbox. “It was the second time in my life that I realized, I’ve got to get back to this person in, like, a nanosecond,” he recalled.
. . .
Dr. Kosik told Linde that an elite group of researchers, known as the Tau Consortium, would gather in Boston in a few months for its annual meeting. Dr. Clelland would be there, as would other “Michael Jordans” in the field. We should try to get you there, he said, so the scientists can be reminded of the human toll of tau-related diseases.
A few weeks later, Linde received an invitation to be the keynote speaker. Jenica and Ashlyn could come, too.
She texted her sisters, “Holy shit.”
One morning in Boston in June 2023, Linde and her sisters got all dolled up, only to arrive in a grand hotel ballroom filled with 100 scientists in oxfords and sneakers.
Dr. Kosik introduced Linde to the members of the Tau Consortium. Too nervous to look anyone in the eye, she stared at a screen showing her slides and read from her prepared remarks.
“You will notice the lack of credentials following my name,” she began. But she said her life had brought her other titles: Caregiver. Jail-Bailer. Carrier. She was the heartbeat, she said, of the cells they studied.
. . .
After the Boston talk, Linde received a flurry of invitations to tell her story. She was interviewed on YouTube by Emma Heming Willis, the wife of the actor Bruce Willis, the most famous person known to have frontotemporal dementia. She came face to face with monkeys that carried MAPT mutations in Madison, Wis. And though she detested the crowds and grime of big cities, she flew to places like Philadelphia and Washington, D.C., to at-(p. A14)tend scientific meetings.
Linde, who by then had moved to River Falls, Wis., always returned home exhausted. But the trips were also fortifying. Learning about the latest research quelled her anxiety — and her husband’s. . . .
During her travels, Linde met other families with MAPT mutations. They were all frustrated by the lack of clinical trials for their genetic glitch, especially because several promising treatments were in the pipeline for other dementia genes. Linde and the others started a global survey of people with MAPT mutations. If an opportunity came along for a clinical trial, they would make it as easy as possible for scientists to find volunteers.
. . .
A few months later, Linde and the group started a nonprofit, called Cure MAPT FTD. They have since found more than 500 people with confirmed or possible MAPT mutations in 10 countries, all of whom have expressed interest in participating in future clinical trials.
In March of this year, Linde got an astonishing offer from Dr. Clelland. Along with collaborators at Washington University and the Neural Stem Cell Institute in New York, she wanted to collect skin cells from Linde and her sisters and turn them into clusters that divide infinitely, known as cell “lines.”
“We propose to make new lines that can be shared with academics and also with industry so that people can do drug screening” and CRISPR projects, Dr. Clelland wrote.
. . .
Based on what happened to Allison and Bev, Linde figures she has at least 10 more years before she starts showing symptoms. But there’s no guarantee; some MAPT carriers begin to change in their 20s. Whenever Linde tells a joke a little too loudly, or has a dulled emotional response to a dramatic event, she worries: Is this tau?
That anxious metronome never shuts off. It compels her to fill any moment of downtime reading the latest study or sending another email. She has spent thousands of dollars and hundreds of unpaid hours on travel. But sometimes, like when she finds herself alone in a hotel room, FaceTiming her daughter about a rough day at school, she questions whether these scientific pursuits are really the best way to run out the clock.
. . .
Dr. Clelland said designing a CRISPR molecule that could precisely excise the MAPT mutation from a cell’s genome was not the hard part. The major unsolved challenge is delivering those molecular scissors into the brain. Still, she and her colleagues at U.C.S.F. have set an ambitious goal of getting MAPT therapy into clinical trials within four years.
(Note: the online version of the story was updated Jan. 2, 2025, and has the title “Fighting to Avoid Her Mother’s Fate, for Her Daughters’ Sake.” I have omitted a few subhead titles that appear in both the online and print versions.)
