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On my second visit with Nancy Wexler at her Manhattan apartment, she had a gift for me. It was a copy of her newly published memoir, “My Life, My Science: Pursuing a Cure for Huntington’s Disease.”
It had been signed with a stamp of her signature — she isn’t able to sign it herself. Nor could she rise from her brown faux-leather recliner to greet me — she can’t get up unassisted. Speaking requires effort. She can manage at most a few badly slurred words or phrases or, with great difficulty, a short sentence.
On that bright windy afternoon, Nancy and her sister, Alice Wexler, sat side by side in recliners, their backs to windows that offered a stunning view of the Hudson River far below. Alice lives in California, but she visits Nancy every other month.
At age 80, Nancy Wexler has Huntington’s disease, a dreaded brain disease that destroys a person’s ability to control movements. There is no treatment. There is no cure.
The disease is inherited: Nancy’s grandfather, three uncles and mother had it. Alice, however, does...