Communion Of Dreams


Machado-Joseph Disease: It’s all in my head

I’m in this curious grey zone currently. On the one hand, I’m about 99% certain that I have the onset of MJD, for all the reasons that I’ve mentioned. On the other, I don’t yet have a diagnosis or the results of the genetic test for the disease (which is definitive).

So there’s some small doubt in my mind sometimes as to whether I actually have the disease, or if I’m just concocting it from a variety of lesser symptoms of normal aging and my own rather rough & tumble life. And boy, wouldn’t that be embarrassing? I mean, I’ve told all my family and friends that I’ve got this happening, I’ve posted about it on Facebook, I’ve blogged about it. What if I’ve just imagined it all? What if I’ve got a case of hypochondria going on?

Think of it as an inverse version of imposter syndrome, and you’ll see what I mean. After all, the symptoms I have are currently episodic, lasting a few hours here or there, then disappearing for a day or three. When I’m not actually experiencing them, it’s almost easy to think that I was imagining it all. And not having the disease is how I’ve lived some 63 years of my life, so it’s the norm.

But then, there are days like yesterday.

We’d had some heavy rains, and I needed to go down into our crude basement to see how much flooding there was. It’s not a real basement, as most people think of such. Rather, there’s an area about 10×20′ that has a concrete floor, but then the floor slopes back to be just a crawlspace for the rest of the rambling structure. What passes for a foundation is a porous brick structure, and during heavy rain, it floods. Where there’s the concrete floor is where the boiler for the radiator system sits, and close by is the hot water heater. Such is the state of a 139 year old sprawling house that has seen multiple additions and changes.

Anyway, I’d installed a sump pump to deal with the worst of the flooding, and it works to do that reasonably well. But still, I usually go down and check when we have heavy storms. So that’s what I did yesterday.

After seeing that the concrete area was OK, I went further back just to look around at the rest of the crawlspace, using a flashlight. I had to crouch down a bit where the floor was rising. And the combination of bending over a bit and having a limited amount of light for visual reference triggered a quick and intense vertigo.

This is a classic MJD symptom. Because MJD is largely thought to cause disruptions in the cerebellum, people who have the disease are prone to balance and coordination problems. Without visual references to confirm my vestibular and proprioception, things got quickly out of whack.

Now, this never used to be a problem for me. I always had an exceptional sense of balance and awareness of my body in space, regardless of whether my eyes were open or closed, regardless of movement or orientation of my head. Having this happen is affirmation that my suspicions are likely correct, and I do have MJD and it’s not just my imagination/hypochondria.

I suppose either way, it’s all in my head.

Jim Downey



Machado-Joseph Disease: unseen

“You seem to be in pretty good shape.”

I knew what he meant. He’s known me for about 50 years, and had seen my aunt, who I went to live with after the death of my parents, deteriorate and eventually die from what was then an unnamed disease.

* * *

There are a lot of chronic diseases that have little or no visible symptoms, but yet can have the people suffering from those diseases in agony, or unable to do routine things, or seemingly drunk/stoned. Enough so that the ‘hidden disease’ story is a trope unto itself. A lot of people who try and explain what it is like have such a disease write about what it is like to have such an invisible illness or injury. And I guess this is mine.

Now, I’m not unfamiliar with this experience. As I’ve written about, I have chronic pain from a number of old injuries, the most annoying of which has been the intercostal tear I’ve had for about a decade. There’s no obvious injury, but the pain wears me down, and limits how much energy I have for social gatherings (which usually happen in the evenings) and such. When I decide that there’s something I want to do with others, it’s mostly a matter of grin and bear it until the festivities are over, then I can take the extra meds and go fall down. My extrovert batteries and pain tolerance usually get me through such occasions with no one the wiser.

But, for me at least, there’s something different about dealing with chronic pain and having an invisible (for now) illness like MJD. Perhaps that distinction doesn’t make much sense to most people. But while I know that chronic pain brings with it a whole lot of related effects, there’s a different psychological aspect to having an incurable illness.

An anecdote from some years back may explain …

At some social event, I was chatting with an M.D. I knew reasonably well, but only on a social basis. That is, they weren’t my doctor, and there was almost no chance that I would ever see them on a professional basis. And as I said, we knew one another reasonably well. Enough so that at some point the subject of MJD running in my family came up for discussion.

My friend, upon hearing this, paused, and did a mental search. He finally found the memory he was looking for, and with brows furrowed asked me, “the neuromuscular disease that’s like Huntington’s?”

“That’s right.”

The furrowed brow changed to a bare look of disgust. “Oh, that’s … nasty.”

* * *

These days, cancer has little or no stigma. But there was a time not that long ago when it did. It was spoken of in hushed tones. Doctors often would never give a patient an honest diagnosis that included the word cancer, instead using some bullshit medical equivalent. It was that feared, because it was almost uniformly incurable and the treatments for symptoms brutal. It was basically a death sentence, and one that likely meant a prolonged and painful end.

It may be hard to believe, but I remember those days. Very clearly.

And for those who know what it is, MJD engenders something of that same reaction. I’ve seen that response in the faces & behavior of people countless times. For understandable reasons: the disease is progressive, there is no cure, and treatments are fairly marginal.

* * *

“You seem to be in pretty good shape.”

I knew what he meant. He’s known me for about 50 years, and had seen my aunt, who I went to live with after the death of my parents, deteriorate and eventually die from what was then an unnamed disease.

I had expected this. In fact, I was already used to dealing with that reaction from people. Used to explaining that this news didn’t quite mean what it would reasonably be understood to mean. Particularly by those who had seen it themselves.

I nodded. And I transferred my fork from my left hand to my right, because my left hand was spasming a little, though it wasn’t noticeable. I poked a forkful of salad, raised it to eat. “Yeah, I am. For probably the foreseeable future it will mostly be a matter of managing the symptoms to the best degree possible. I’ll know more about that when I get the full workup and genetic test results, and we start trying therapies.”

My friend looked relieved, happy for me. “Good.”

We had a pleasant lunch, and a good long catch-up after. When he left, I took my pain meds, poured a drink, and thought about what the future held.

Jim Downey



Machado-Joseph Disease: Acceptance

[I’ve decided to be public about my realization that I have the onset of MJD, the diagnosis process, and then living with the disease. Given the rarity of this disease, my hope is that this series of blog posts will help educate others, and perhaps provide some insight into it and related conditions. This is the second post in the series, written a few days after the first, as I started to come to terms with the realization.]

According to the “stages of grief” I should probably be still somewhere around either denial or anger, in reaction to the realization that I am experiencing the onset of MJD. But I’m not.

I’m not some exceptionally well-adjusted person or anything. (Well, OK, I am, but it’s taken me 60 years and working through a lot of personal trauma to get to this point.) Rather, I think that’s mostly due to the fact that I’m not really ‘grieving’ the loss of my good health or anything. In the short term, this is mostly one additional annoyance of aging that I’ll deal with. I’ve already been living with chronic pain for more than a decade, and going through the cardiac catheterization six years ago was educational in terms of forcing me to re-adjust my perception of myself as eternally young. Yeah, that whole thing actually turned out to be a great benefit for me, correcting a previously unknown heart defect, but it was still a moment when I thought that I had a serious heart condition that would end my life sooner rather than later.

So I’ve been through the experience of reframing my expectation of ‘good health’. And I’ve found it relatively easy to accept that there’s about a 99% likelihood that I have MJD.

I realized this when I was talking with the scheduling nurse from the Neurology Clinic, setting up an appointment for my initial assessment with one of the attending physicians who has an expertise in neuromuscular disorders and ataxia. She said that when the staff saw my family history of the disease (from my medical referral) it was obvious who I needed to see and why. I don’t want it to sound like she shocked me, or let the cat out of the bag — it was I who initiated that aspect of the discussion. She just confirmed it. At that point I went from being reasonably sure what my symptoms meant to being all but certain.

And I found that I was at peace with that.

Jim Downey



Machado-Joseph Disease: Realization

[I’ve decided to be public about my realization that I have the onset of MJD, the diagnosis process, and then living with the disease. Given the rarity of this disease, my hope is that this series of blog posts will help educate others, and perhaps provide some insight into it and related conditions. This is the first post in the series, as I started to come to terms with the realization.]

3/13

I’ve known this disease for almost 50 years. From well before my family even had a name for it. I’ve seen it kill family members by millimeters, and do its best to ruin the life of my sister over the last 15 years.

So, why did it take me so long to recognize that I have it?

* * *

Denial, perhaps. This is not the sort of future one particularly wants to face.

Or perhaps a sense of entitlement? That I have had enough other pain and suffering in my life, that I deserved to be missed by this curse?

Or maybe a lingering perception of invulnerability? It’s said that none of us can really envision our own mortality until it steps out of the shadows and confronts us face to face.

All of the above.

What I know is that I first experienced tremors & cramping in my hands several years ago. The stiffness and ache I had felt I attributed to osteoarthritis — I had abused my hands considerably during my years of jujitsu and SCA combat, after all. At first, I just figured that the tremors and cramping were due to the same.

Except arthritis doesn’t cause tremors and cramping. Some part of me knew this, but discarded the information.

The same was true of the foot/leg cramping, the RLS (restless leg syndrome). I figured it was due to walking. Or climbing ladders. Or digging through turf. Or just ‘one of those things’.

All plausible explanations.

Because some part of me didn’t want to acknowledge the possibility of MJD/SCA3 (spinocerebellar ataxia type 3). As noted, this is not the sort of future one particularly wants to face. Depending on the age of onset and some other factors, MJD can mean anything from almost total debilitation and an early death to prolonged suffering and loss of bodily control. And we’ve seen the full range in my family. Not the sort of thing one wants to particularly acknowledge, since there is no cure and precious little in the way of medical treatment for the symptoms.

What was harder for me to ignore were the moments when I lost my sense of balance. My formerly exceptional sense of balance; graceful, fluid motions on the field of combat or the practice mats of a dojo. Gone now. Oh, routine walking is still perfectly fine. But when I turn my head quickly, or close my eyes while still moving, things will spin/sway/shift for just a moment. That never happened before. Well, unless I got drunk. Because that’s pretty much exactly what it feels like.

And then recently, I started just dropping things. Particularly tools, when I was tired from using them after a couple of hours. My hands would just stop working for a moment, and the item would slip from my grasp.

Now, I can be as clumsy as the next person in just routine day-to-day stuff. But when I’m working with tools, my focus, my control, is exquisite. It has to be, in order to be a book conservator, as I have been for thirty years. I don’t just start losing control of my tools. Let alone dropping them.

But I have.

* * *

Just before New Years we got together with my sister and her family. We’d had visits during the pandemic, but they had been brief, sometimes outside, more superficial. For whatever reason, as we were talking about how she was doing in her struggle with MJD, we got a little deeper into the details than usual. And as we talked about her symptoms, it was like a checklist formed in the back of my mind.

A checklist of symptoms. A checklist with each box ticked.

I realized that it was possible that I had been experiencing the onset of MJD. I scheduled an appointment to see my GP, far enough out in the future that I figured that the Omicron surge would be past, and it would be relatively safe to talk with her.

I didn’t put it out of my mind — how the hell could I? — but I was able to convince myself that it made the most sense to just wait and see my doc, and likely then see a neurologist after. Because MJD is rare enough (like 0.005% of the population rare) that my GP had zero knowledge of it, as I knew from previous discussions with her about family medical history. But I did start paying closer attention to that checklist. And I did some more reading on the latest research and medical information about MJD. It turned out that there had been a LOT of additional research and publications, and the disease was now much better understood than the last time I had dived into the literature some five or six years ago.

After digesting that, I was reasonably certain that yes, I had the onset of the disease. I shared those thoughts with my wife and a couple of very close friends I knew I could trust to not freak out or over-react. I still wanted to wait and see my doc, then a neurologist, and get the results of the genetic test that would confirm whether I had the disease, and to what likely degree, before I said anything to my family or other friends.

* * *

Last Tuesday (the beginning of March, 2022) I saw my doctor. It went as I expected, with me explaining my suspicions and how they matched the symptoms of the disease. What I didn’t expect, as we discussed it, was that her questions about the disease sharpened and confirmed those suspicions. She agreed with my analysis completely, and I left the appointment convinced that I have MJD, and that I had likely experienced the first onset three or four years ago.

I’m still waiting to get an appointment with a local neurologist (through a referral from my GP’s office for insurance purposes), though that will probably happen in the next week or so. Everything above is what’s been playing out in my head as rehearsed dialogue for that meeting. Time and time again.

So I thought I would write it down. Like being a care-giver, it helps me to process and understand what I am going through. Perhaps I will make it public. Perhaps it will grow into something like Her Final Year, as a way for me to share my perspective and help others who experience ataxia or have someone in their life who does. We’ll see.

For now, I will keep these thoughts to myself. But will update as seems useful.

* * *

3/16

Today it was a week since I was told by my GP’s office that they had sent over a referral to the local university Neurology Clinic, where they actually have at least one person on staff who is familiar with ataxias. (I went and looked at the public profile info about the staff on their website).

Since I wasn’t quite sure how the University referral/scheduling system actually works, I called the Neuro Clinic, and chatted with the nurse who answered the phone. Yes, I can be funny and charming if necessary. Looks like my case is already in discussion with the docs there, and I should hear from someone soonish about actually getting in to get an appointment/evaluation. The nurse I spoke with said that the process usually takes a month or longer, and that it has happened in just a week means that it’s on a fast track. Looks like I’m special. Woo-hoo — lucky me!

* * *

3/18

Haven’t heard from the Neuro Clinic yet — hadn’t really expected to, but still …

I’m used to chronic pain. From the joints I’ve abused, from the intercostal tear in my side that I’ve had for a decade+, from the ache of bones broken in a full and vigorous life.

So the extra pain in my hands and feet isn’t really a change. And it’s not like the pain is any more intense or distracting. But it is a change. Like using a larger hose to fill a pool; the volume of pain has increased. It fills me up faster, reduces the energy/attention that I have for other things.

It’s like being out of shape, and discovering that you just can’t run as far or as fast as you used to be able to. It catches you a bit by surprise, and there’s a part of you that just wants to deny that something so fundamental has changed.

I told a friend (one of the very few who knows about this) that I’m currently uncertain whether or not I’ll put a garden in this year. It’ll depend on what I find from connecting with the doctors. Oh, I’m sure that I *could* put in a garden, but how much would that take away from other things I want to accomplish through the summer & fall? I’m being a little more cautious about how I commit myself, not knowing what resources I’ll have available.

So I hope the scheduling nurse from the Neuro Clinic calls next week.

Jim Downey



Knowing what we don’t know.

Two brief news items in the last day or so illustrate just *how much* fundamental knowledge we don’t have about our own biology.

The first is this good article from Wired about building a comprehensive model of the human brain: A First Big Step Toward Mapping the Human Brain

Relevant excerpt:

The Allen Cell Types Database, on its surface, doesn’t look like much. The first release includes information on just 240 neurons out of hundreds of thousands in the mouse visual cortex, with a focus on the electrophysiology of those individual cells: the electrical pulses that tell a neuron to fire, initiating a pattern of neural activation that results in perception and action. But understanding those single cells well enough to put them into larger categories will be crucial to understanding the brain as a whole—much like the periodic table was necessary to establish basic chemical principles.

Consider that: we’re just now really building a good map of how the different neurons interact within one small component of the brain. And not even the human brain, at that.

And this news story, which came as a shock to me when I heard it on NPR: Seasons May Tweak Genes That Trigger Some Chronic Diseases

From the story:

The seasons appear to influence when certain genes are active, with those associated with inflammation being more active in the winter, according to new research released Tuesday.

* * *

Other researchers say the findings could have far-reaching implications.

“The fact that they find so many genes that go up and down over the seasons is very interesting because we just didn’t know that our bodies go through this type of seasonal change before,” says Akhilesh Reddy, who studies circadian rhythms at the University of Cambridge but was not involved in the new research. “And if you look at the actual genetic evidence for the first time, it’s pretty profound really.”

Again, this is a really basic bit of science — akin to understanding how the sequence of gene expression leads to the development of an organism. Learning that your genetic activity changes during the year means that illnesses are much more dynamic than anyone realized previously.

Not to get too Rumsfeldian, but it really is important to know what we don’t know, as seen between the two items above. In the first case, researchers set out to build a model because they knew that they needed the basic knowledge. In the other, it was investigation of a mystery which led to an unexpected discovery.

And in both cases, it’s science at work. And very cool.

 

Jim Downey



Building a better human.

From Chapter 5 of Communion of Dreams, after the revelation that the Chinese orphan Chu Ling is a clone:

Jon looked around. He decided to tell them the rest of the bad news. “And that’s not all. There’s evidence that the original host had been genetically manipulated to radically change several characteristics related to intelligence.”

Bailey looked a little confused. “What’s that mean?”

Gish sighed. “It means that someone has created a better human, and now is producing copies.”

“Well, better in their eyes, anyway,” said Gates. Her voice contained a touch of bitterness.

 

Gee, here’s a bit of news:

Chinese scientists create first genetically modified human embryos

And so it has come to pass: Chinese scientists at the University in Guangzhou have created the first genetically modified human embryos. Although there had been rumors circulating for some time that it had already been done, until now, there has been no official scientific report.

 

Another prediction come true.

 

Jim Downey



“I prefer the term ‘Artificial Person’ myself.”

Catch this news this week?

Synthetic biology: New letters for life’s alphabet

The five bases found in nucleic acids define the ‘alphabet’ used to encode life on Earth. The construction of an organism that stably propagates an unnatural DNA base pair redefines this fundamental feature of life.

* * *

Sorry about the sparseness of posting lately. I’ve been … busy. Have had a couple of interesting things happen which could play out in some very good ways. One is still enough in an embryonic stage that I won’t mention anything about it yet, but the other is far enough along that I’ll share: there’s a literary agent who is potentially interested in representing me, something which I have been thinking about for a while.

And it seems like a good enough fit that I took all of last weekend to put together a submission package for formal consideration. That meant going through and doing fairly thorough revisions to the first few chapters of St Cybi’s Well, using the feedback I have gotten from half a dozen ‘beta readers’, as well as composing a formal synopsis of the book. Frankly, both were a lot of work, and somewhat skewed my normal work schedule such that it is just now getting back to what passes for normal in my life.

But it was also helpful, and forced me to clarify some things which I had left unfocused for the rest of the book. Because of the way I am writing this (using Scrivener), it has been fairly easy for me to block out both the overall arc of the book as well as character developments. But doing so has been based on chapter notes more than anything, meaning that it was still somewhat in flux. Creating a full synopsis meant that I had to put the whole thing into one coherent document. And even though it was something of a pain in the butt, the result is helpful.

I’ll keep you posted as to any concrete developments.

* * *

Remember this scene from Aliens?

 

Considered a classic, and rightly so. But I’ve always thought that a big part of the brilliance of it is how it sets up what happens immediately after:

Back at the groups’ table, Bishop holds up his hand and examines a tiny cut closely.

BURKE: I thought you never missed, Bishop?

To Ripley’s horror, a trickle of white synthetic blood runs down his finger. Ripley spins on Burke, her tone accusing.

RIPLEY: You never said anything about an android being on board! Why not?!

BURKE: It never occurred to me. It’s common practice. We always have a synthetic on board.

BISHOP: I prefer the term ‘artificial person’ myself.

BURKE: Right.

 

* * *

Oh, one more thing: in observation of Mother’s Day, the Kindle edition of Her Final Year is available for free download through Sunday, May 11th. If you’re new here, just a quick note: this is our care-giving memoir about the challenges and rewards of caring for someone with dementia, as well as the long recovery/reflection period which comes after. It seems to have helped a lot of people. Perhaps it can help you or someone you know.

 

Jim Downey



Looking back: Testing…testing…

While I’m on a bit of vacation, I have decided to re-post some items from the first year of this blog (2007).  This item first ran on March 18, 2007

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

There’s a very good piece in today’s New York Times titled Facing Life With a Lethal Gene about one young woman’s decision to be tested to see if she carries the gene for Huntington’s Disease.

It is a very difficult decision to be tested for a genetic disease which you may have, and for which there is no known treatment (let alone a cure). If you test positive, you know exactly the sort of future you face. And, if you test positive, it can have a significant impact on your employment and insurance possibilities, even decades before you might experience any onset of symptoms.

There is a similar disease which runs in my family called Machado-Joseph. In terms of statistics, there is about a 68% chance that I carry the gene for it, though I do not have the other familial characteristics which seem to track with the disease. So I have elected not to be tested. Besides, at nearly 50 years of age, if I did have the onset of the disease, it would be likely that it would progress so slowly that I would die of something else (the younger the age of onset, the more rapidly the disease progresses).

Anyway, I recommend you read the article. Because as the science of genetic testing develops, it is likely that at some point you will have to make a decision about whether or not you are tested for either a genetic disease or a predisposition towards some type of health problem. Better to consider the matter before being confronted with it. Trust me on this.

What does this have to do with Communion? [warning – spoilers ahead]

The book’s history is premised on a flu pandemic about 40 years prior to the story. This pandemic not only killed hundreds of millions outright (and threw the world economy into complete chaos, resulting in hundreds of millions more deaths) , it left most of the survivors sterile – and did the same to most of the resulting children born. This is a recipe for extinction.

I chose this scenario for several reasons, not the least of which is that I think we are due for a world-wide pandemic sometime in the next decade. But also my family history and personal choice came into play – long before there was a genetic test to determine whether or not I carried the MJD gene, I made the decision to be childless. I felt at the time that the risks of passing on the disease were just too great. Not having any progeny leaves one with a sense of loss, even if it was a decision made for the best of reasons. I could only surmise that the effects of imposed childlessness population-wide would be even more profound.

And, [again, spoiler alert!] the psychological impact of the transformation which comes at the end of the book, through the agency of the alien artifact, would be a very literal rebirth for the entire human race. Not only do we give birth to a subsequent species in the form of the AI/Expert Seth (who achieves true sentience, midwifed by the artifact), but the entirety of the effects of the pandemic are cleansed – meaning that humankind has a second chance, and can start afresh. The hope is, of course, that we will do better the second time around.

So, go read the article.

Jim Downey



We are the champions.*

From BoingBoing here’s an embedded video of a long (90 minutes) but *really* fascinating discussion on the topic of why homo sapiens is the sole surviving member of our genus, and what that might tell us about ourselves. What I very much enjoyed was the way the different disciplines brought their own perspective to the question, and how each different perspective tends to reinforce the science of the others.

Why did our species survive?

Today, we’re the only living member of the genus Homo and the only living member of the subtribe Hominina. Along with chimpanzees and bonobos, we’re all that remains of the tribe Hominini.

But the fossil record tells us that wasn’t always the case. There were, for instance, at least eight other species of Homo running around this planet at one time. So what happened to them? What makes us so special that we’re still here?

* * * * * * *

From Chapter 5:

Navarr turned and looked at Jon. “Any indication from the medical report what the genetic changes mean functionally?”

“No, not yet. The way that the genetic manipulation will play out is very difficult to predict, since that is a subtle and complex dance over time. They have simulations running now, and we may have an idea in a few days.”

* * * * * * *

I don’t want to give away too much, but there are other intimations in Communion of Dreams on this topic, since it is one which has long intrigued me. And while I am nowhere near knowledgeable enough to get too far into the molecular genetics, the current state of the science is such that there is room for plausible speculation.

And again, without giving too much away, I can say that this is something which will be one of the themes in St. Cybi’s Well.

* * * * * * *

Speaking of giving things away: next Saturday, June 9th, will be a Kindle promotional day for both Communion of Dreams and Her Final Year. As previously, the Kindle edition of each book will be available for free download all day, and you don’t even need to own a Kindle to get & read your free copy, as there is a free emulator app for just about every computer/tablet/mobile device out there.

In addition, I will be offering a signed paperback copy of each book as a prize — details to be announced in a couple of days!

Jim Downey

*of course.



Where the danger lies.

Last week I mentioned the genetic breakthrough accomplished by J Craig Venter and his team: the creation of functional man-made DNA. Since then, lots of very smart people have been trying to sort through the implications of this development. One of the better collections of such discussion I have seen can be found at Edge.

Here’s a bit from PZ Myers (also on his blog) that I find particularly insightful:

Nature’s constant attempts to kill us are often neglected in these kinds of discussions as a kind of omnipresent background noise. Technology sometimes seems more dangerous because it moves fast and creates novelty at an amazing pace, but again, Venter’s technology isn’t the big worry. It’s much easier and much cheaper to take an existing, ecologically successful bug and splice in a few new genes than to create a whole new creature from scratch…and unlike the de novo synthesis of life, that’s a technology that’s almost within the reach of garage-bound bio-hackers, and is definitely within the capacity of many foreign and domestic institutions. Frankenstein bacteria are harmless compared to the possibilities of hijacking E. coli or a flu virus to nefarious ends.

Let me repeat that last sentence: Frankenstein bacteria are harmless compared to the possibilities of hijacking E. coli or a flu virus to nefarious ends.

It’s almost like he’s read Communion of Dreams, eh?

Jim Downey