Last night my sixteen-year-old son Garrett was talking about his biology class. Apparently they had viewed the movie “Gattaca” and then went on to discuss genetic engineering. His teacher suggested that within fifty years we will have the ability to make genetic corrections to a developing embryo in the womb. She suggested that we could then correct conditions such as Down Syndrome by genetically repairing the twenty-first chromosome before it replicated itself erroneously. This got us talking about whether or not such a thing was ethical, and whether we should do it at all.
Garrett asked me whether, knowing what I know now, I would have corrected or removed his susceptibility to inherit diabetes, if that were possible. I told him I certainly would. Then he asked me whether I would have corrected his younger brother’s autism. And this is where, perhaps surprisingly, I hesitated.
Maybe if Kyle’s autism were causing him pain, depression, health problems, or limiting his capacity for joy, it would be an easier answer. But Kyle is generally happy, enjoys pursuing his personal interests, and is unaffected by the atrocities and cruelties of the world. He is so wonderfully innocent and good-natured. It’s hard for me to imagine him any other way but the way he is. And I’ve gotten to where I’m not sure I want to. Perhaps some people would throw rocks at me for such an admission. But my perspective on what is important about life and humanity has changed a great deal. I love Kyle (and all my children) with every part of my heart.
Garrett agreed. “I wouldn’t change Kyle. He is so great the way he is,” he said.
If we ever reach the point in medicine where we can correct all diseases and imperfections, we’ll be faced with a whole lot of questions. Where do we draw the line between what should be repaired and what should be left alone? And will genetic engineering diminish our human capacity for unconditional love? Can intolerance be genetically corrected?
I’ll wrap up this blog with a Valentines message to my husband: I am so grateful that you’ve come into my life and taken up the role of father in our chaotic home. Thanks for loving me and the children, and for putting up with my imperfections. Yesterday I told you how much I wanted a certain rare and precious thing, and you went out and tripled what I asked for. That’s just your nature. You mean everything to me. I love you, and Happy Valentines Day.
Kristyn Crow is the author of this blog. Visit her website by clicking here. Some links on this blog may have been generated by outside sources are not necessarily endorsed by Kristyn Crow.
